


Huntingbird, A History

by Sanctuaria



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Compliant, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. References, Bobbi is badass, Clint is badass, Episode: s02e05 A Hen in the Wolf House, Even when they're divorced they're in love, F/M, Hunter is an asshole, Hunter is an asshole in a good way, Natasha Romanov Joins SHIELD, Romanoff is badass, Strike Team Delta, They're all badass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2018-04-19 20:30:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 69,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4759970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanctuaria/pseuds/Sanctuaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She hated him because hating him was easier than loving him. But it wasn't always like that. Once...once Bobbi Morse and Lance Hunter had been happy. Story of how things came together and how they fell apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Operation: F.I.R.S.T. C.O.N.T.A.C.T.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the following scene from s02ep05:  
> "I wish I could give you some advice, but I've never been friends with a guy first. It's always been a roller coaster. Fast out of the gate, then hit the drop, the turn, the loop...the screeching halt. Then…back in line to do it all over again."  
> "But is the ride worth it?"  
> "I'll let you know when it's over."

"S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, do you copy? This is Morse, requesting confirmation of orders. S.H.I.E.L.D., do you read me?" Nothing but silence greeted her on the other end of the line. Perfect. Real perfect.

She stood up fully from her crouched position, surveying the warehouse in front of her. It looked abandoned, but she knew better than to assume. Water was seeping quickly through her specialist's catsuit, soaking her inside and out. There was nothing else to do but complete the mission and hope the extraction team would get there before she had to jump into the frigid lake again or died of hypothermia. She'd never counted surprise heat-seeking missiles as things to put on her top-ten most hated list, but after this fiasco she would have to seriously consider it.

Agent Morse started for the warehouse, moving stealthily but quickly through the underbrush and trying to keep her movements fluid and her teeth from chattering. She reached the door to find it protected by a single padlock, but when she went to remove it a few lead shavings fell to the ground and it sprang open in her hands. Again, odd. Her spy senses, acutely formed through years of training and experience, were flaring wildly, but she didn't have much choice. The window for this mission was very slight, and she wasn't going to have the extraction team find her hiding like a waterlogged rabbit a half mile away with the op incomplete. Whatever it was, she would have to find a way to handle it.

The door creaked as she let herself in, creeping alongside the wall in the semi-darkness. The interior of the place had a dank, musty smell, but was a bit warmer than the outside.

That should have been her second clue.

Bobbi headed forward again, listening intently. Suddenly she detected a voice speaking a language she couldn't identify and pressed her back up against the wall, heart pounding. The speakers were getting louder, coming nearer, raucous tones and angry voices. She would be caught if she stayed on the surface, but intel had a trapdoor to the cellar no more than fifty feet from the entrance. Bobbi peeled herself away from the wall with a deep breath, searching in the dim light across the ground. A few seconds felt like a few minutes, and all the while she heard the voices growing nearer.

Finally, she found it; her hand looped around the metal ring and she pulled upward. It opened to admit her with a horrible creak, and she pulled a mini flashlight off her vest, broke the waterproof seal—why couldn't her comm have one of those?—and shined it down in front of her before taking the leap.

She landed hard on ground—it was much closer than she'd expected it to be. The jolt sent pain lancing up her ankles, but she recovered quickly and immediately thrust the flashlight to the side should anyone try to use it to pinpoint her location. Her outstretched arm would require a much luckier shot than the center of her body mass.

She shined the light around the basement, scanning for movement, a door, anything. Something tackled her from the side and she crashed into the stone wall. No sooner did she register the splitting pain in her shoulder than she felt a thin wire press like a razor against her neck and she struggled violently, elbowing her attacker hard enough in the ribs to be released. Gasping for breath and feeling a droplet or two of blood beginning to trickle down her jugular, she spun to face her assailant, planting a giant kick in his side, effectively throwing him to the ground.  
"Bloody hell," the man grunted from the floor, and Bobbi was surprised enough that she stopped in her tracks mid-second-kick to his ribcage.

"Who are you?" she demanded, pulling her metal staves from her belt and readying herself for another attack.

"You speak English," he said in a rough voice. His hands planted themselves on the dirt, and she knew it would only take a split second for him to push himself off the floor.

"Good observation," Bobbi responded dryly, grasping her staves tighter. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

"American English," he corrected distastefully. His eyes appeared nearly black as he squinted into the light, calculating, dangerous. "The question, love, is not what I'm doing here, but what you are. You're unlawfully interfering with a British operation, so I suggest you leave now before my backup arrives and I decide to press charges."

"Then you're trespassing. The British aren't allowed to operate within this country," she countered.

"And neither is S.H.I.E.L.D." He caught her eye, lips forming a twisted version of a smile. "Yeah, I know you're S.H.I.E.L.D. They're the only ones that allow operatives to go off on missions with metal, non-pointy sticks to fight with."

"Would you like a demonstration of what exactly me and my non-pointy sticks can do?" Bobbi challenged.

"Not really, thanks," the man replied, pushing himself up from the ground. He dusted his hands off, quite obviously no longer treating her as a threat. That annoyed her. "Now, if you would please shove off and allow me to do my work, I would be much obliged."

"I don't think so," Bobbi answered tightly. "You being here is putting enough kinks in my mission. You're staying put, and maybe I won't have S.H.I.E.L.D. lock you up later."

He scoffed. "Like you could. I've got my orders, and a single S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with metal sticks isn't going to stop me from completing them. I've faced far worse than you, darlin'."

"Then stay out of my way," Bobbi spat, forcibly moving past him further into the basement. "I've got my orders too. I've got a package to retrieve."

"Yes, the package," he said, "...you can't have that."

"The hell I can't. Why, is the British government after it too? Which, by the way, is a clear violation of the S.H.I.E.L.D.-British Compact over rights to to otherworldly and dangerous materials."

"Not after the package," the man replied with a shrug. "Don't even know what's in it. I'm after the men here right now, and the men who'll come afterward to claim it."

"I'm taking the package."

"I'm afraid we're going to disagree on this one, love."

"A lot of people must with you. You seem like a very disagreeable person." He caught her next kick with his bare hands, thrusting her legs upwards and knocking her momentarily off-balance. She spun to regain her footing, and by the time she was upright again he was out of reach and halfway across the basement. She took off after him, raising a stave to bash into the back of his head. He ducked just in time, but she was expecting that and jabbed the end of her other one into his stomach. He doubled over, then fell to the ground and rolled quickly to the side, causing her next swing to miss as well. Breathing heavily, she attacked again. Her leg locked with his and he planted a swift kick on her shin. She blocked his next move with one of her batons, receiving a punch to the jaw in return. The stave jerked out of her grip as he twisted, but only at the cost of another giant kick to the chest. He staggered backwards, dazed, but managed to stay on his feet. He was good; she would give him that. Not many could hold their own unarmed against her and the staves, but they seemed somewhat evenly matched.

Then again, she was trying not to kill him if she could help it.

He interrupted her train of thought with a run straight toward her, at the last second diving to the right and sliding right by. Before she could even turn around her head was being jerked backwards by the long strands of her golden hair. Her knees buckled under the strain of that position, and he vaulted over her to the corner of the basement, feeling the ceiling for the other hatch. She sprang up after him knowing it would be her last chance; there was no way she would follow him up to possibly blow the mission with some inter-agency skirmish. And he knew it.

"Well, that's odd," he said, stopping her in her tracks again. His hands were pressed against the ceiling. "It's locked, and it won't even budge. It's like something's been stacked..." He gazed up at the low ceiling, a minor curse word on his breath.

"You don't think..." Bobbi began. They looked at each other and then took off for the other hatch. She beat him to it, only to find it similarly inaccessible.

"Great, bloody great," the man muttered darkly. "You happy now, Miss S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent? We're trapped in here."

"How is this my fault?" Bobbi demanded. "You're the one breaking the S.H.I.E.L.D.-British Compact."

"I don't even know what the bloody hell that is!"

She glowered at him. "Obviously." The stood there in silence for a minute, glaring at each other.

"So, they haven't shot us yet," he broke it.

"No," Bobbi replied. "They might not even know we're here, because if they did, we'd be dead already. It's possible they just happened to place the crates directly on the hatches."

"Oh, because that's likely," he rolled his eyes.

"There are five hundred cubic feet in machinery that go with this thing," Bobbi informed him. "This warehouse ain't that big."

"That's the package you were here to pick up?" the man scoffed. "What are you, superwoman?"

"Yes, and I also shoot laser beams out of my eyes," she told him, rolling her eyes. Bobbi picked up her flashlight from where it had fallen on the floor and cast it around. She didn't remember any other access points from the blueprints she'd studied on the jet ride here, and her sweep unfortunately confirmed that. Just as she faced the fact that she was well and truly trapped, the utter cold took her over again. She unzipped her jacket, peeling off the first part of her suit.

"What on earth do you think you’re doing?" he asked warily.

"I jumped in the lake to trick the heat-sensors. If we're going to be here a while, I need to get these wet clothes off."

"So that's what your special S.H.I.E.L.D. training told you to do," he mused.

"What do you mean?" she demanded.

"Just that I got in here...and I haven't got a drop of water on me."

"Care to share how?"

"Not particularly. I'm sure your way would've gotten you through the mission just fine. After all, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s all high, mighty, and secretive. No way one of their agents could ever make the wrong call."

"You got a bone to pick with S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"Love, I've got a bone to pick with anyone who comes and messes with my op."

She chose to ignore him and held up her outer jacket, twisting and wringing it in her hands. Drops of water cascaded to the floor, but the material was measurably more than damp. Bobbi idly wondered how cold it got at night in Azerbaijan before putting it back on.

"There's no tactical cover in here," he noted, and Bobbi blinked, startled by the fact that he'd been doing a survey of their situation at the exact time she was.

"Besides each other."

"Yes, besides us." He peered up at the trapdoor. "I vote we blast our way out. I set a grenade on the edge here, we go to that back corner—well, I do, you can do whatever you want—and it blows this thing open."

"Or, when a pile of machine parts drops through the hole and buries us in while the fire eats up all the oxygen, we asphyxiate to death."

"There is that little snag."

"And you brought grenades for a mission like this? It's like you're trying to get yourself killed!"

"It's not me I was trying to get killed!"

"That package, up there," she pointed above their heads, overriding his words, "is a lead-lined case with a vial of a rare radioactive isotope. That thing bursts open, and you'll be lucky if not ever having kids is your worst problem."

"You're not all that pleasant to be around, are you?"

"Agent Barbara Morse, pleased to make your acquaintance," she rolled her eyes.

"Lieutenant Lance Hunter, Special Air Service," the man replied. He stared at her with coal black eyes for a moment and then shrugged his coat off and tossed it to her. She caught it with one hand out of reflex.

"What's this?"

"Just put it on. If I'm going to be stuck in here for some indeterminate amount of time, I don't want you to kick it of hypothermia and have a dead body stench to deal with."

"How thoughtful," she deadpanned, but grudgingly replaced her own jacket with his. It was thick and warm with his body heat and had a faint musk to it. She absently wondered if that's what he really smelled like on a day-to-day basis.

"You should probably turn off the flashlight to conserve the batteries," he suggested. "I've got one, front left pocket. But I've been using it a lot lately, so I'm not sure how long that'll last either." She clicked hers off, plunging them into a sea of black. After a moment: "What do you mean, rare radioactive isotope?! My commander said it was 2.3 million pounds sterling in smuggled diamonds from Namibia."

"Yeah, of course he did, you're not supposed to be here!" Bobbi said emphatically. "S.H.I.E.L.D.-British compact, we're supposed to take care of the non-run-of-the-mill dangerous stuff. But I'm guessing someone in the British government started getting curious about this specific target, so S.H.I.E.L.D. fed them the diamonds-in-payment-for-genetic-mutation-testing story to both provide an explanation and place it within our jurisdiction. You weren't supposed to get involved, sticking your noses where they don't belong!"

"S.H.I.E.L.D.'s a real piece of work," Hunter said before falling silent. Bobbi pursed her lips, annoyed with how comfortable he seemed here, with her. She preferred strange men on ops to be running away scared or cowering behind a table or something. This was just...wrong.

"You know, if we don't get out of here, we may have to resort to cannibalism," she said after a few minutes, just to gauge his reaction. So far nothing about her had fazed the man, and that bothered her. But cannibalism...cannibalism usually fazed people. The silence pricked at her skin, setting her on edge though she was seated up against the wall. There was no reply. "Hunter, I swear to God if you're creeping up on me with that wire of yours..."

"I'm not, I'm not!" he answered from somewhere further away. She relaxed the tiniest bit. "Wake me up for the cannibalism, though. You're on first watch."

Bobbi sighed.


	2. Operation: L.A.N.C.E. H.U.N.T.E.R.

He. Would. Not. Shut. Up.

A day and a half. She'd been stuck in that tiny, dark basement with him for a day and a half, and when he wasn't sleeping she didn't think he'd stopped talking once. Politics, history, his "mates" back in London, his favorite bar of all time in Georgia, every single mission he'd ever been on... She was pretty sure there had been some veiled insults to her country in there too, along with the many addressed to her. When the S.H.I.E.L.D. extraction team had arrived, she'd pulled a huge favor from Coulson and had the plane drop him off in England just to be rid of him instead of having to sit with him through processing. It was more a mercy to her than a courtesy to him, that was for sure. Even on the landing platform of the Atrium base of operations in Washington, D.C., her ears were still ringing—and they had parted ways twelve hours ago.

"Agent Morse, good to have you back," Victoria Hand greeted her as she passed, pausing in her conversation with Jasper Sitwell.

"Good to be back," she replied with a smile. She continued forward through the hallway, which was filled with a mixture of well-dressed agents in suits, scientists in crisp white lab coats, and specialists in body armor carrying large rifles. The Atrium was small as far as bases went and was probably the tidiest, most aesthetically pleasing of them all, with a large skylight above the entranceway and golden seal on the walls. It was the base that all the government officials and ambassadors from other countries visited, and as such ran as a finely-tuned machine. Everyone here was utterly professional and the best of the best. She'd even heard whisper of blueprints to expand the Atrium and transform it into a Triskelion-style building should S.H.I.E.L.D. ever become public knowledge, but she didn't see that happening any time soon. In fact, she didn't think anything short of an alien invasion would cause that to happen. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s foundation, floor, walls, and roof were all secrets, and the top brass sometimes seemed more interested in making sure the house didn't fall down than anything else.

“Want to get a drink?” Melinda May offered, turning to look at Bobbi and Coulson.

“Sure. Maybe some good hard alcohol will get his annoying, nasally voice out of my head,” Bobbi replied.

Coulson agreed as well, saying, “It’ll be good to decompress. When Mel and I heard that it was you who hadn’t checked in, I practically had to restrain her so we could get cleared to fly and everything. She just wanted to take a plane and go.”

May rolled her eyes. “I think he’s got our roles reversed. I seem to remember him barging into Fury’s office during a top-secret meeting with Alexander Pierce to ask for that plane. Fury wanted to send Barton, but he’s still benched, so Phil insisted it be us.”

Bobbi grinned. “Thanks, guys. You made good time from D.C., which is probably a good thing or I might’ve been facing an investigation on the mysterious death of Lieutenant Lance Hunter of the Special Air Service.”

“Excuse me for a moment,” May said, holding up her phone and stepping off to the side to answer it. “Maria will meet us at my place in ten.” They had reached the double doors separating the base from the outside world. “I’ll drive.”

“Shotgun!” Bobbi and Coulson said at the same time. She narrowed her eyes at him but turned to May. “Your car, your apartment, your call.”

“Phil,” May didn’t hesitate.

“Hey!”

“I like my backseat drivers in the back seat,” May replied.

“Fair enough.”

The Asian specialist directed them to her car and got into the driver’s seat, waiting for them all to be seatbelted before starting the car. It wasn’t a long ride to May’s place; she had the closest apartment of the three of them to S.H.I.E.L.D. and the largest. Bobbi had always liked smaller places to live in—less cleaning required—and she enjoyed the longer drive to work through the back roads. She didn’t often get to drive on her missions; often there was someone with a less specific skill set to do that for her if need be. Driving. She always expected some changes in her life as she transitioned from a civilian one to an agent one—people trying to kill her, irregular and shifting working hours, keeping a dozen different languages straight in her head—but missing the feeling of the steering wheel wasn't one of them.

They arrived at May's apartment a short time later, and the senior agents cracked open the alcohol while Bobbi made herself at home on the small sofa. Coulson and May were by no means a thing at this point, but Bobbi had often thought that they could and should be. Then she thought about what they'd do to her if she ever told them that and decided she rather liked the use of her limbs. But still, as far as she knew, Coulson was the only one with keys to May's apartment in case of emergencies.  
Hill arrived a few minutes later, complaining about a day full of meetings with high-level agents from around the world. “And Marcus,” she continued, “would not stop arguing with the president and I half expected him to just walk out on S.H.I.E.L.D. altogether! Then Daniels got in a huff and was making all these snarky remarks to Sara. Honestly, some of these diplomats are like toddlers.”

“Still happy to be on the shortlist for becoming Fury’s second?” May deadpanned, lips curving into a smile. “This is the kind of thing you’ll be dealing with.”

“I’ll let Fury deal with the diplomats; I’ll take care of our people. Marcus pulls anything like that while I’m commander, he’s looking at a reassignment. Maybe to the Fridge, severe cold and general isolation would serve him right.”

“Speaking of annoying people with snarky comments, you’ll never believe the guy who crashed my op,” Bobbi said, rolling her eyes. She recounted the story of her latest mission for Hill's benefit.

"Bobbi," May said in a strange voice when she had finished. "Is there something you want to tell us?"

"What do you mean?" she asked blankly.

"Lance Hunter. You haven't shut up about him since we left London."

"Yeah, he's an ass. He—"

"Why don't you just call him already? You obviously like him," May accused.

"I do not! Haven't you been listening? He's an ass!"

May turned to Hill. "She likes him."

"'S totally obvious," Maria agreed. "Look, Bobbi, I have contacts in nearly every government program around the world, including the SAS. I can get his number for you; it's not a problem. In fact, I'd be happy to."

"You’re totally hung up on him," May nodded.

"Phil, you see how crazy they are, right?" Bobbi appealed.

"Sorry, Morse." He looked at Maria. "Doesn't she have to wait four days or something first?"

"That's a stupid guy rule, doesn't apply," Maria answered, pulling out her phone. She tapped the screen twice before starting to type, fingers flying across the tiny keyboard.

“Stop—!” Bobbi hissed in frustration. “You can find his number if you want, but I’m not going to call him.”

“You’re going to call him,” her three friends responded in unison.

“Done,” Maria said happily, setting her phone down with a self-satisfied smile. “His number’s in your phone now, Bobbi. Your move.”

"Not going to call him," she repeated obstinately.

"Hey, Maria, couldn't you make it a mission?" Coulson asked, mischief in his eyes.

"Oh, you're right," Hill replied, leaning forward. "I'd have to clear it with Fury, but all this about disregarding the S.H.I.E.L.D.-British Compact really does need to be investigated. You already have a way in, Bobbi—you'd be perfect for the op." May and Coulson nodded in agreement, all of them eyeing her expectantly like a trio of wolves. Hill smiled. “You’ll have the assignment in your hands by three o’clock, Bobbi.”

* * *

She hated him. She really, truly did. He was arrogant, aggravating, and had tried to strangle her with a wire. And yet, she couldn’t get him out of her head. The late afternoon silence of her apartment in the absence of her friends and the file folder in her hands containing the official mission details certainly didn’t help matters either.

Before she could second-guess herself again, Bobbi quickly pressed the call button. It rang a few times before he picked up. "Yes?"

"Hunter?" she checked.

"Couldn’t stop thinking about me, eh?" he asked, and she blinked, confused. "More conclusive proof for my mates that I have a condition. Women spend more than ten minutes in the same room and they're all over me; it’s bloody inconvenient sometimes. I think it’s my sparkling personality, you know?"

"Never mind, solved my problem," Bobbi said angrily, thumb hovering over the end button. Hill and Fury could find some other way to find out what the SAS was up to, perhaps using more official channels.

"No, wait, Morse," he stalled her. "I've been thinking a lot about our time in that basement too. I'm going to be Stateside in less than a week. Want to...do dinner and a movie?"

"A drink," she countered, momentarily forgetting she was about to hang up.

"Just dinner, with alcohol included," he compromised. "For business purposes only, of course. We can discuss that S.H.I.E.L.D.-British treaty you were going on about."

The mission. "Fine.”

"I'll contact you with details," he said. "This number good?"

"Yeah." Why exactly was her heart pumping this fast?

"See you then." The call ended, leaving her standing there with her phone in her hand, wondering what the hell she'd just gotten herself into.

As she thought it would, the intervening five days passed quickly, finding her in equal parts dread and something akin to anticipation. May, Coulson, and Hill teased her mercilessly between ops until finally Bobbi had been forced to tell them the wrong restaurant for her own protection. Only it backfired because Hill was the one organizing the mission in the first place, but at least the candidate of Deputy Director wasn't going to sabotage the mission for the sake of a good laugh. She wasn't sure the same could be said for May and Coulson.

She’d only spoken to Hunter once more over that time period, again on the phone, when he gave her the name of the restaurant and the date and time. “Wear something nice,” he’d said as he ended the call. She had half a mind to show up in sweats and a Doctor Who T-shirt. Oh, wait, no, he liked Doctor Who. God, he talked too much.

On the afternoon of, somehow she was wheedled into allowing May help her dress for what they had dubbed “the big date," and she found herself seated on the edge of her bed with May rifling through her closet.

“This one?” May suggested, holding up a pastel blue number but Bobbi shook her head.

“Not short enough.”

“Not short enough,” May repeated, giving Bobbi a look. “You’re not trying to turn Hunter into one of your one night stands, are you?”

“Hell no. But it’ll be fun to watch him squirm.”

“In that case,” May replaced the dress with a scarlet one, “I think it’s time to pull this one out of storage.”

Bobbi surveyed the dress with a critical eye. “Let me try it on.” She took the dress from May and headed into the bathroom, changing quickly. She tugged the swooping neckline down and smiled evilly to herself in the mirror before going out to show May.

“This is the one from that Vienna op, right? The amount of wow factor—it’s perfect. For the sake of the mission," she amended quickly.

“Just for the mission, right," May rolled her eyes. "How about a necklace to go with it?” She opened the jewelry box.

“No distractions,” Bobbi grinned, glancing down at herself. “Just me and him.”


	3. Operation: D.A.T.E. N.I.G.H.T.

The restaurant Hunter had chosen was an expensive steakhouse a few miles away from the Jefferson Monument, with dim ambient lighting and candles at every table. He met her at the door wearing a dark suit, freshly shaven with polished shoes. “Hello,” Hunter greeted her. The tiniest bit of awe colored his voice as he took the whole of her in and then met her eyes again. She'd succeeded in making him at least a little bit uncomfortable. Lance Hunter, despite his penchant for talking too much, snarky comments, and apparently very nice suits, was still a guy. “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks.” He _could not_ make her blush. He could _not_. This was her game, not his. Her mission. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

"I try." He held the door open for her before stepping into the waiting area himself. He approached the desk. "Reservation for Lance?"

The server nodded, smiling at the pair of them. "Right this way, please." She led them to the back corner of the restaurant next to the window. The waitress handed them their menus and said she'd be back soon with their drinks. Bobbi almost wished she wouldn't go and leave them alone.

"So, tell me some things about yourself," Hunter prompted.

"Like what?" Bobbi asked warily.

"Say...favorite movie," Hunter suggested.

"What's yours?"

"No, I asked first," Hunter said.

"Info for info," Bobbi raised an eyebrow.

" _Get Carter_ , 1972," Hunter told her, and then gestured for her to proceed with slight exasperation. Before she could, the waitress returned with a bottle of expensive wine and poured it for them. They gave her their orders and she took their menus away as well.

"Mobsters and gangs, interesting," Bobbi nodded once the waitress was gone again. "For me, _Star Wars_."

"Which one?"

She laughed. "Does it matter? Is it even possible to choose?"

"I suppose not, as long as it's not the newest one that just came out," Hunter said grudgingly.

"What, Episode I? It wasn't that bad," Bobbi protested. "Qui-Gon made up for Jar Jar, come on. Especially with the lightsaber duel at the end!"

"Nothing in that movie can make up for the calamity that is Jar Jar Binks," he shook his head. "They should have gone for a precursor to the Ewoks rather than that hapless frog-creature."

"He had some decent scenes with Padmé, Queen Amidala, whichever name you want to call her by. Oh, I liked her character too—trying to save her people despite her young age and the overwhelming responsibilities of being queen."

"Yeah, but I don't know what the people of Naboo were thinking, electing a fourteen-year-old to be queen," Hunter scoffed. "If my fourteen-year-old niece was queen of England, everyone would be listening to that boy band NSYNC and dressing like Britney Spears. It would be a bloody nightmare."

Bobbi laughed. "Well, it would take an especially regal and serious girl to rule a planet I guess, but it looks like we're not going to agree on _Phantom Menace_. Tell me more about your family." Family? She was asking about family? How the hell did he get her so far off-topic? S.H.I.E.L.D.-British Compact, Barbara, S.H.I.E.L.D.-British Compact...

"It's me and my two sisters and my mum at home," Hunter replied. "She's sweet and kind of smothering, like most mothers are. My two older sisters are both married, kids; one lives in Chicago and the other back in Hartford. One niece, two twin nephews around six. They're little cannonballs of energy, those two."

"I'll bet. Do you see them often?" Bobbi asked, waiting for an opening to steer this conversation back to S.H.I.E.L.D.. There was no rush, she told herself—she had all night to get this done. No man had ever walked out on her on a first date, mission or no.

"We get together for some of the holidays sporadically, but Christmas at my mum's is the tradition. She makes a Christmas Pudding to die for," Hunted answered. "What about you? Did you grow up in D.C.?"

"Oh, no," Bobbi shook her head. "I grew up in a little town in Idaho. Only child. We had a big backyard and I spent a lot of time out there playing with my golden retriever, Myka."

"Mm," Hunter said appreciatively. "Always been more of a German Shepard bloke myself, but I will admit there's something charming about a dog that constantly looks like he's smiling at you. Or a malinois, those things can _jump_."

"So you're a dog person too. Did you have one as a kid?"

"Nope, no matter how much we begged. Mum always said she'd be the one who ended up taking care of it."

"And would she have been right?"

Hunter pretended to look miffed. "I was a very responsible child, thank you. I always did my homework before hanging with my mates and set the dinner table without being asked."

Bobbi smirked. "Would you like a smiley-face sticker for that?"

"I'll take a smile from you any day," Hunter made a face. "Do you have a dog now?"

"I wish, but it would be unfair to the dog with me being gone for work so much," Bobbi said conversationally.

"Too bad," Hunter said. "Why did you choose to be a... a... What exactly is your cover?"

"Detective Barbara Morse, MPD," she grinned. "Yours?"

"No cover needed, but sometimes I tell people I'm a PI,” Hunter shrugged, earning himself a large eye roll. “Why did you become a 'police detective'? Beautiful girl like you, it doesn't seem the natural course of action."

"Actually, you have no idea how often my looks come in handy," Bobbi said, leaning in almost imperceptibly closer. "I've gotten out of a lot of nasty situations with a little well-placed seduction."

"Lucky man," Hunter replied, mimicking her movement.

"Not always a man." She watched him with satisfaction as his brain worked through that last statement and his eyebrows rose slightly.

Either it was her imagination or his voice was a bit gruffer when he said, "Whoever you're working your wiles on, then."

The moment of electricity was broken as the waitress returned with their meal. Bobbi blinked. Electricity? Oh, shit. This night might actually be going somewhere, wasn't it?

As if he knew exactly what she was thinking, Hunter grinned cheekily at her from across the table.

She hoped to God he didn’t.

 

* * *

“May I walk you home?” Hunter asked as they exited the restaurant. Bobbi looked at him incredulously.

“What, are you trying to be all gentlemanly or something?” she asked.

“I _am_ a gentleman,” he said, pretending to be affronted.

“It’s approximately a mile and you’re a bit drunk,” Bobbi reminded him.

“So are you, love. But I’m SAS and you’re S.H.I.E.L.D., I think we can make it there all right. Don’t they teach you buzzed wandering around D.C. in S.H.I.E.L.D. assassin class?”

She scoffed deep in her throat, nevertheless turning and beginning to walk in the direction of her apartment. “That’s classified.”

"Well, did you happen to bring your staves? You're kind of a hellbeast with those—and I speak from experience."

"It was just you on this date; I didn't need them," Bobbi deadpanned.

"Funny," Hunter replied sourly. "I had this nasty a bruise on my stomach. Lasted for days after Azerbaijan."

"Serves you right,” Bobbi said. "You attacked me first, remember?"

"Oh, we're starting this madness again, are we?" Hunter questioned, smiling in her direction.

Bobbi let the banter between them continue unchecked as they made their way back to her apartment, having already extracted the information she needed from him sometime just prior the dessert course. Hunter only tripped off the sidewalk once on their way back. When they reached their destination, she stopped and turned to him, ready to bid him a goodnight, but he spoke before she could.

"I like a girl who can talk Star Wars," he said, taking a minute step closer to her as he realized what she had—that this was the end of their date.

"I like a guy who can talk guns and sniper rifles." His hand was playing with the hem of her dress, slipping underneath to set her skin alight with his touch.

“I can talk about guns and sniper rifles all night,” he promised, his voice slightly husky.

Bobbi subconsciously leaned closer to him, drawn in by the sparks that seemed to sizzle between them. His hand made its way to the small of her bare back, and he pulled her in ever closer. She made the first move then—making a decision and sticking with it, having had enough of the tentative initiation of what they both obviously felt—and closed the final distance between their mouths, kissing him passionately.

He returned the kiss instantly, pulling her flush against him. As the seconds ticked by, both of them began stepping awkwardly toward the door to the building but were unwilling to let go of each other long enough to move with any real speed. When her back finally hit the exterior of the metal-and-glass door, she stopped him gently, her palm on his chest. Through the somewhat thin cloth of his dress shirt she can feel the pumping of his heart, fast and surging under her fingertips. He gazed at her curiously through darkened eyes, and she smiled slightly before taking his hand and leading him upstairs into her apartment.

She wasn’t breaking her promise to May. She wasn’t. She had every intention of meeting up with him again, multiple times.


	4. Operation: W.A.L.K. O.F. S.H.A.M.E.

Her eyes opened, and she blinked slowly in the morning sunlight, slowly becoming aware of her surroundings. Bobbi yawned and turned over, the twinge between her thighs a none-too-subtle reminder of her activities last night. Suddenly she was face to face with Hunter, who was up on one elbow watching her. "I expected you'd be gone by now," she said truthfully, surprised that she had not immediately noticed another presence in the room as she woke. Something about him must have made her completely let her guard down while she was asleep. Dangerous to say the least, but...well, it was Hunter.

"And I, you," he replied. He looked as if he had slept with one eye open the entire night, like he had been waiting for her to wake up—planning on interrupting the quiet exit she honestly couldn’t say whether or not she would have made—but was shocked when she actually slept through the night. Now he was taking the time to observe her as the sunlight filtered in through the curtains and seemed to be enjoying the view.

"It _is_ my place,” she reminded him.

“Then it’s a good thing neither of us left,” he replied with a smirk, leaning forward and capturing her lips with his. His hand slid unashamedly down the length of her side, sliding the covers even further off her exposed body.

She kissed him back, turning back onto her side and leaning into him, no hesitation in her movements. “We should do this again sometime,” she suggested.

Hunter moved his kisses down to her neck. “I intend to,” he murmured, breath warm against her skin.

Bobbi shifted position slightly, allowing him more access. “Can I ask you a favor?” she said, closing her eyes.

She heard a muffled, “Sure,” as his kisses migrated to her shoulder.

“Can we...keep this between us? S.H.I.E.L.D. would have something to say if they…” she began.

She felt Hunter lift his head and his gaze on her. She opened her eyes to his smirk, confused as to why he had stopped. “Your secret is safe with me; this is just me and you,” he promised. Her gaze drifted to the clock on her nightstand as she settled back down, and all at once she sprang up, almost knocking him in the chin.

“I gotta go,” she told him apologetically, sweeping discarded bits of clothing off the ground and chucking them haphazardly in his direction. His pants hit him in the face accidentally. He reluctantly began pulling them on.

“Usually there’s breakfast first,” he complained, and his shirt landed on his head as well—this time intentionally.

“Don’t hang around in my apartment like a creep,” she told him as she donned her specialist boots. “I come home armed.”

“Duly noted,” Hunter nodded. “When will I see you agai—?”

“I’ll call you!” Bobbi said over her shoulder as she made her way out of the bedroom, grabbing her keys off the hook.

“Don’t die out there, okay?” came his muffled reply as she closed the door behind her.

“Got it!” she shouted through it before turning and bolting down the stairs.

Twenty minutes later, Bobbi hurried through the doors to the Atrium. She slowed only long enough to get scan her S.H.I.E.L.D. ID at the metal detectors, allowing her access and recording her entrance without pinging the two batons on her back and the small emergencies knives in her boots. She made a beeline for Fury’s office—how the hell had the one day she had an early morning meeting turned out to be the one day after she’d met someone like Hunter? Then again, she hadn’t exactly been planning on seeing him the next morning.

She belted around the corner and came to an abrupt stop, nearly crashing into May and Hill.

“Are you running late?” Hill asked, noticing the rush. “I thought you normally come in early to work out?”

Bobbi’s mind whirled silently, but all she could come up with was, _Crap._

“Or did you have your work out at home?” May suggested, smirking.

“The British SAS guy? Bobbi!” Maria exclaimed. She turned to May. “I thought you said she was swearing off any more one night stands after Pierre?”

“I did. I am. I mean, nothing happened,” Bobbi said. Even she could tell how unconvincing that sounded, and she quickly put her guard up. “I’m late for a meeting with Fury,” she told them, moving past them and walking off.

“This conversation is not over,” Hill called after her. Bobbi gave a disgruntled wave of acknowledgement over one shoulder.

“You’re late,” Fury greeted her upon arrival in his office. He was standing behind his desk, facing away from her.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she apologized. “Is there a mission?”

“Yes,” the dark-skinned man with an eyepatch laid a file on his desk in front of her. “Get Barton out of my gym before we have to install actual monkey bars.”

She frowned, confused. “Sir?”

“Deliver this to Agent Barton,” he clarified, tapping the folder. “He’s been benched for far too long, and he’s taken to perching in the gym’s rafters and observing everyone from up there. Some of the lower level cadets have started spreading rumors about how he could get up there—thus the monkey bars. The last thing I need is a report on my desk about some loose-lipped junior agent spewing tall tales about a government assassin with superpowers around D.C.”

“I see, sir,” Bobbi smiled. “Does this mean I get my partner back?”

“It does,” Fury appraised her with his one good eye. “In that file are his medical release forms along with your next mission debrief. It starts at noon.”

“Yes, sir, right away,” she nodded.

“Agent Morse,” he stopped her at the door. “Try not to be late next time.”

“Yes, sir.” She walked out of his office, folder tucked under one arm and an extra bounce in her step. Her last few missions had been without Clint. While she was perfectly capable of completing them on her own, she liked having someone to watch her six—especially if that person was one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s finest, a master assassin who could take out an enemy at a hundred yards with a single arrow. He also was a pretty damn good sparring partner, and he never held their history—a few months of dates, before she’d realized he wasn’t what she was looking for—against her.

She’d almost made it to the gym before she was ambushed by May and Hill, this time with Coulson in tow. She rolled her eyes at all of them. “Are your jobs really so boring that you’ve got nothing better to do than pester me about my sex life?”

“So you did do it!” Hill pounced.

May turned to Coulson, smug, and held out her hand. He scowled and pulled fifty bucks from his suit pocket, slapping it into her palm. “You bet on me?” Bobbi asked, marginally annoyed.

“I didn’t think you would,” Coulson shrugged.

“He didn’t see your dress,” May said. “You are going to return that, aren’t you? I did take that from the S.H.I.E.L.D. undercover-outfits warehouse.” Bobbi looked away, momentarily distracted, and May added, “It _is_ still in one piece?”

“Shut up!” Bobbi exclaimed, attention refocusing on May in indignation.

"Details," May prompted.

Bobbi scoffed. "Yeah, right. Certainly not when all you guys are going to do is tease me about anything I say."

"Well, that means there _is_ something to tease you about," Coulson said.

"I guess I'll read all about it in your official mission report," Hill told her with a triumphant smile. "And I want it thorough, Morse. Every juicy tidbit."

"Including after we left the restaurant?" Bobbi countered with a raised eyebrow. She laughed at Hill's expression. "Thought not." She looked at the three of them. "I have actual work to do, and I'm sure you do too, so…” She made a little waving-off motion with her fingers and they reluctantly let her go. Bobbi hurried forward another few paces and opened the door to the gym she’d just spotted Barton slipping into. It shut behind her as she looked around, scanning the area for him. There were two female agents on the treadmills and an overly buff specialist at the weights, but no sign of her partner.

Remembering what Fury had said, Bobbi looked to the ceiling just in time to see a dark shape flit across the rafters. She smiled to herself, shaking her head. Even though she worked with this man, his agility never ceased to amaze her at times. That and his overabundance of patience—waiting, testing the wind, and waiting some more for the perfect shot. “Yo, Barton!” she shouted upwards, not caring how unprofessional it sounded. From Fury’s account, the agent had been wreaking some havoc around here in his copious spare time anyway. It was time to rein him in, get the Hawk to abandon the little nest he seemed to have built himself up there. There were plenty of nests to be made on other missions, but not here for the goggling eyes of the younger agents.

Barton didn’t respond, so she headed for the tiny ladder that went about a fifth of the way up the wall. From there a small ledge was just within reach, and then a somewhat-sturdy cord hanging from the ceiling. After that...she didn’t even want to think about it. She placed her hands on the bottom rungs of the ladder. “Barton, if you make me kill myself to come up there and get you, I’m going to murder you!”

A second later, a large shape appeared at the top of the slick steel pole—an odd part of the structure of the gym in her opinion, but Bobbi was no architect—and her partner came sliding down it. He released his grip and let himself fall to the ground for the last foot or so and then stood up fully, brushing off his hands on his pants. “How could you have murdered me? You’d already be dead,” he pointed out.

“I’d have come back as a demonic spirit and gotten the job done,” Bobbi told him flatly, but her eyes betrayed the teasing nature of her statement. She thrust the file folder into his hands. “Welcome back to active duty, Agent Barton.”

“Finally, Agent Morse.” He opened it eagerly, careful not to let any of its highly-classified contents spill out. “Myanmar, tomorrow morning bright and early. You ready?”

“Always,” Bobbi joked.

 

* * *

 

Bobbi parked her car outside her building with a sigh. She hadn’t had a chance to come back to her apartment after waking up with Hunter due to lengthy mission briefings, and she sincerely hoped he didn’t mess anything up in her absence. And that he actually left.

She slid out of her car and walked into the building. As she was nearing the top of the stairs, she noticed something red and green in front of her door. Upon getting closer she saw that the item in question was half a dozen roses tied with a yellow ribbon and nestled in a clear plastic sleeve. “Seriously, Hunter—how discreet,” she muttered to herself before bending down and picking them up. She opened her front door and walked into her apartment. Dropping the flowers on the table, she locked the door behind her, pulled out her gun and checked her whole place—making sure her home was both empty and undamaged. The only disconcerting thing she found was that he didn’t bother making the bed, but she could live with that. She walked back into the kitchen and picked up the roses to read the note.

_Had fun last night.  —Lance_

Bobbi was tempted to throw the roses out, but she didn’t. Instead she pulled out a vase her mother had given her for some birthday or another and filled it with water. She pulled the flowers from the plastic sheath and inserted them, moving the vase to the back corner of the counter. She’d throw them out when they died. A new thought occurred to her, and Bobbi laughed and shook her head when she realized the full extent of Hunter’s plan—she was now obliged to call him and thank him for the flowers, lest she appear ungrateful.

Pulling out her phone, Bobbi set a pot of water on the stove to boil before dialing his number.

“Hello?” he answered after two rings.

“Hey, you,” she said with a smile. “Thanks for the flowers.”

Then she hung up.

Two could play that game.


	5. Operation: M.A.R.I.E.

Bobbi’s phone started ringing as she waited in Hill's office to receive a packet of paperwork to fill out about their latest mission. She and Barton would normally share this type of work, but she'd lost a bet on how long it was going to take Kowalski from Logistics to ask out field agent Mears, the answer being a year and a half. Without checking the caller-ID—believing that only S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel would call her at the moment—she answered it as she waited for Maria to return. “Morse.”

“Hello, Morse! How are you on this pleasant evening?” a male voice came through on her earpiece.

“Lance Hunter—I thought I told you not to call me at work?” Bobbi said immediately.

“It’s 10 P.M.; you can’t tell me you’re still at work.”

“You’re back in England, aren’t you?" Bobbi sighed. "It’s only two o'clock here!”

Hunter took his time—probably doing the math—before he replied. “Ah…” he said, a laugh escaping his lips, “I may have forgotten about the time difference. Forgive me?”

Bobbi rolled her eyes. She was tempted to tell him to remember better next time and leave her alone, but before she had chance to—she'll call him later tonight, or for him in the morning—he continued talking. “If it makes you happier, I will be in your timezone next week for eight days.”

Bobbi smiled in spite of herself. "Really?” she asked playfully. "That _is_ interesting.”

She could almost hear Hunter’s smirk through the phone line. "I thought you’d find that interesting... Does this mean you forgive me for calling you while you were at work?” he asked.

“Definitely not—you have a lot of making up to do," Bobbi teased before the door opened and Hill walked in. “Got to go," she said, hanging up.

“Who was that?” Hill asked.

Bobbi was tempted to lie but her indecision took too long. Her non-answer was all Maria needed to know.

“It was that SAS agent," Hill accused. "Taking his call while at work, that’s bold. Especially while you were waiting in my office." Hill gave her a mock stern look before smiling. "You really are smitten."

“Maria, drop it. It wasn’t him.” Bobbi lied. "And I am not _smitten_! I don't do _smitten_."

"Sorry to burst your bubble, _Mockingbird_ , but that's no longer true," Hill said. She held out a large file folder. "Now, here's the paperwork you have to fill out. Try not to get too distracted if he calls you again; I need it by five." 

* * *

 

 Bobbi woke up early on Saturday morning with a disgruntled yawn followed by a slow smile. Usually she would have slept in a little later—it wasn't often she got a chance to, after all—but she was meeting Hunter at the beach. For a date. She was almost positive he had picked that location because it would guarantee that she would be wearing a bathing suit—joke would be on him if she showed up in a wetsuit, wouldn't it?—but all in all, she didn't mind. Being based at the Atrium in Washington D.C., it wasn't often she had a reason to make the forty mile drive to the coast. As both a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and someone in a long distance relationship, longer travel times were a given and didn't bother her much.

She hopped in the shower, relishing the chance to take as long as she wanted without fear of S.H.I.E.L.D. calling her in for a mission. Upon pain of death, Hill had been instructed not to disturb her except in the case of an emergency, and Bobbi hoped the Earth could keep itself safe for the next twenty-four hours. When she was finished, Bobbi blow-dried her hair and opted to french-braid it to the side—she never liked wet hair getting in her face.

Looking through her clothes, she pulled out her two-piece black swimsuit despite the slight temptation to wear a bikini. She didn't want to be that exposed in public, especially on a wide-open beach instead of a swimming pool. Bikinis in her mind were related too much to missions involving seduction, and she wanted to keep thoughts of S.H.I.E.L.D. as far away from this date with Hunter as possible. She pulled on some normal street clothes over it and wolfed down a quick breakfast before setting off.

Upon reaching the coast, Bobbi parked her car and looked at her surroundings with eager anticipation. She spotted Hunter sitting on a bench playing on his phone, obviously waiting for her with what appeared be a picnic box beside him. Bobbi liked the thought of a picnic on the beach even if she wasn't a big fan of the possibility of crunching sand with her food. She hoped he brought a blanket. Collecting her bag, she slid out of the car and walked over to him. It wasn’t until she was practically in front of him that he realized she was there. How exactly did he work for the SAS with attention-to-surroundings skills like those? It would never fly for a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. “Good morning," she said to him.

Hunter looked up and grinned at her. “Good morning, beautiful. I was beginning to believe you stood me up," he joked, greeting her with a chaste kiss on the lips. After a few moments he pulled away, holding her at arm's length. "What did you do to your hair?" he exclaimed in surprise.

She rolled her eyes. “I was tempted to sleep in; it is my day off,” Bobbi teased, her hand resting on his arm.

“It’s the afternoon in my head—time differences,” Hunter replied, picking up the picnic basket and taking her hand. “Ready for a stroll?”

“A stroll? How romantic of you,” Bobbi said, which made Hunter laugh.

“It was my sister’s idea,” he admitted. "As well as the picnic. Personally, I would have just thrown you over my shoulder and chucked you into the ocean.”

Bobbi laughed as well, shaking her head in amusement. "Both sound like good ideas," she replied, meaning the stroll and picnic, but from the devilish smirk that appeared on his face, he obviously misinterpreted her words. But he didn’t react further, just kept up his Cheshire Cat smile as he just led her down to the softer sand near the ocean.

"I love the beach," Bobbi admitted as they sat down on a blanket Hunter spread out. "I've always thought it nice to live in a house near one—see the ocean out the windows and all that."

"Why don't you?" Hunter asked.

"Because houses aren't practical for one person and I have no real reason to leave D.C.," Bobbi told him.

"You should, someday," Hunter told her. "Maybe I'll be the one sharing that house with you."

"Maybe you will," she laughed.

“How about we go for a little swim?” Hunter suggested, holding his hand out to her. “We should eat _after_ , right?” he questioned.

"Actually it doesn't matter either way, that you shouldn't swim after eating is a disproved myth," Bobbi answered with a teasing smile, accepting his hand. "The body has enough blood supply for both the muscles and the stomach. But yes, I would."

"You know all sorts of weird facts," Hunter told her, pulling her up. Before she knew it he was picking her up bridal style and taking long strides toward the ocean.

“Hunter! I swear to— Put me down, or I will kill you!” Bobbi exclaimed, pushing against his chest as he laughed at her. She considered actually attacking him—she could count eight ways in her current position to forcibly get down from here, only three of which would end with him not breathing—when she felt the waves at her back. A moment later and she was submerged, sinking into the cold water with Hunter's hand protectively on her arm, making sure she would resurface. But she knew how to swim, and she used it instead to pull him under along with her.

Bobbi's head broke the surface first and her feet found the sandy bottom so that she could stand and push the bit of hair that had escaped the braid out of her face. She hit Hunter on the arm when he came up. "You jerk! I’m still in my clothes! You could have let me take them off!” she argued.

“Take them off?” Hunter asked seductively. "Well, had you told me that was an option..."

Bobbi hit him again. “Not like that. I’m wearing my swimsuit underneath.”

Hunter laughed, venturing a slow step towards her, chin-deep as they were in seawater. “I think I prefer your first suggestion," he admitted as his hands glided over her hips. "Do you hate me?”

“Yes, I do,” Bobbi replied before kissing him. She could kiss somebody she hated, right? 

* * *

 

 Bobbi rolled over and curled up to Hunter. She smiled as his arm wrapped around her and pulled her in closer. Unfortunately that smile turned into a frown at the usual buzzing of a phone. She reluctantly pulled out of Hunter’s hold to grab hers only to have a blank notifications screen staring innocently back at her. Confusion filled her for a moment before Hunter started moving.

“Sorry, that's my phone,” he muttered, answering it. “Hello.” He paused, listening to the person on the other end. From the higher-pitched sound of it, it was a woman, but that was about all Bobbi could tell. “Seriously, Monica?” Hunter sighed. “No, I’m not do—” He broke off as the voice grew noticeably louder. “Okay, fine!” he nearly shouted. “I’ll get dressed and be ready in a minute. Okay? I’m putting you on speaker.” He hit a button on the phone before tossing it back on the bed and leaping to his feet. He hurried over to grab his shirt from the floor as the woman continued.

“You better answer her questions seriously. None of your usual snark, Marie!” Hunter froze in the middle of donning his shirt and then bolted back toward the bed, diving after the phone like it was a football, landing in a heap of arms, shirt sleeves, and electronics. “She really needs you for this project, and—” He managed to turn off speakerphone, silencing the woman’s voice, but Bobbi was already looking at him on the verge of both laughter and utter confusion.

“Monica, Monica, Monica,” Hunter said in a placating tone, looking down on the floor for his pants. He checked under the bed, facial expression taking on the beginnings of frustration. “...Is it okay if I do the video call without pants on? She’ll only see me from the waist up, right?” There was some loud screeching. “All right, all right! Then you’re going to have to give me a minute, because I can’t find my pants.” Bobbi felt like she was in the middle of a Peanuts comic, with the voice of the adult in the conversation _Mwahmwamwah-mwahmwa_. “Where am I? None of your business, Monica!” Bobbi snapped her fingers to get his attention and pointed to the edge of her closet, where she’d just spotted his pants. “Yes, of course I brought the stuff!” He picked up his pants and started pulling them on. “Okay, I found them. Tell Emily I’ll call her in five minutes. Okay? Okay.” He gave a short, barking laugh. “Yeah, love you too.” He dropped the phone back on the bed.

Bobbi gave him her best questioning look.

“Sorry about that,” he said, avoiding her eyes under the pretense of buttoning his shirt.

“Marie?”

“My...middle name,” he looked at her finally. “Pretty sure my mum wanted another girl. Got teased relentlessly as a child because of it. Don’t laugh.”

“Too late,” Bobbi replied, grinning. “Your middle name—” She snorted, unable to finish the sentence.

Hunter mock-glared at her, buttoning with a vengeance. “Wow, thanks, I really needed that.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Bobbi replied, holding back a smile as best she could. “Who was on the phone?”

“My sister Monica, back in Hartford,” he said. “My niece Emily has a project on different parts of the military that she procrastinated on, and she needs to talk to me to finish it before it’s due in an hour.” He pulled downwards on his shirt to straighten it out and grabbed his phone, stopping in front of her. “And it’s not that funny, Bobbi!”

“If you say so,” she grinned again, “Marie.”

“Shut up!” He gave a huff and headed towards the door.

“Hunter,” she said, and he spun around.

“If you say one more word about it—”

“Your fly’s down.” He stared at her with narrowed eyes for a second, then looked down and tugged it upwards. He turned on his heel and marched out of the bedroom without another word.

Bobbi sank back into the pillows, laughing.


	6. Operation: L.O.V.E.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fast Out of the Gate" Part III

"Bobbi, jet's this way," Clint called from behind her.

"I know," she shouted back without turning around.

"Aren't you coming?" he asked, jogging to catch up with her.

"Nope."

Clint put his hand on her shoulder and spun her around to face him. "You're going to visit your _boyfriend_ , aren't you?" he accused with a laugh. "That's why you nearly bit Coulson's head off when he suggested he and May could take care of this mission to London instead of us, isn't it?"

"First of all," Bobbi stopped walking, barely containing her smile, "he is not my _boyfriend_ , he's my...something else. Second, none of your business, Barton!"

Clint just laughed. "He was supposed to be a target, Bobbi. See what happens when I'm off on medical?" He shook his head in mock disappointment.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Bobbi rolled her eyes. "Just go catch your jet back to the States. I'll rejoin you Tuesday. Try not to cause any international incidents in my absence."

"You know, if you just taught me some of the dozens of languages you've picked up..."

"I've tried, remember Munich?" she scoffed. "Stick to your arrows and the languages in which you do know the difference between the words for 'murder' and 'breakfast.'"

He narrowed his eyes at her and she smiled sweetly before turning away again. She opened up the door to the cab and climbed inside, giving the driver the address. She spent the duration of the ride gazing interestedly out the window as the taxi headed out of the city and into the countryside, and then from there into a town. Her heartbeat quickened when she knew she was getting close, taking in the children playing in parks and a group of teens sitting on a bench reading. Before she knew it, the driver pulled up in front of a nice-looking apartment building, and she got out with her duffel bag after paying her fare.

As she approached the door it occurred to her that he might not be home. She quickly shrugged off the possibility—he's waited for her before. She knocked on his door and a few seconds later heard footsteps. They halted in front of the closed door for a second before a very surprised but delighted Hunter opened it.

“Bobbi! Did we have plans?” he asked, blinking as if he couldn't believe she was actually here.

Bobbi smiled. "Nope. Surprise!”

Hunter laughed and opened the door fully. "Come on in.”

Bobbi stepped into the apartment, planting a swift kiss on his lips before he swung the door closed and pulled her in for a longer kiss. After a few minutes they pulled apart. It was only when he stepped past her and picked up her duffel bag with his left hand that she noticed his other hand was bandaged up. “You’re injured," she observed, taking ahold of his arm.

“Oh… No, not really,” Hunter replied, elaborating after one stern look from Bobbi. "Sprained wrist and three fingers bent back a bit too far...but nothing’s broken.”

Bobbi accepted the answer with a pursing of her lips. “When did it happen?” she inquired, taking her bag from him. When he didn’t answer immediately, she looked at him directly. “Hunter.”

“A couple of days ago. It’s nothing, really,” Hunter insisted.

Bobbi sighed, having spoken with him yesterday morning at length. He had neglected to mention this little detail. “I’m a bad influence on you, injuries-wise.”

Hunter laughed and pulled her into a side hug. "That you are; you're corrupting me," he joked before kissing the side of her head. “Out of curiosity, how long are you here for?”

“I have a plane to catch Monday morning,” Bobbi answered. "It's only two days, not that long, but—"

"We'll make it work," Hunter promised happily, pulling her closer. 

* * *

“You know where we should go next time we both have some time off?” he asked, tossing the newspaper over the side of the bed.

“Where?” Bobbi asked, sitting up on one elbow. She put the edge of her thumb in her book, closing it but not losing her page.

“There’s this little bar in Macon, Georgia that is bloody amazing—two words I never use lightly, _bloody amazing_. Actually, I think I told you about it, back when we first met.”

“While we were stuck together in that basement barely not killing each other? You talked about a lot of things, and I recall about _this_ much.” She held up two fingers, so close together they were almost touching. “Georgia the state or Georgia the country?”

“State. It’s this tiny place, and the bar owner probably wouldn’t remember me, but—”

“How often do you go?” Bobbi questioned.

“I’ve only been the once,” Hunter replied. “Soon after I first joined the SAS, probably nineteen or twenty at the time. First visit to America. Boom, Franny’s Saloon, established 1904. Made me decide your country might not be so awful after all.”

She whacked him with her book, then said, “You decided all that off a little bar in Georgia? Wow, your standards must have been really low.”

“Or this pub is just really great,” Hunter said. “See? We should go. You’d like it.”

Bobbi laughed. “Unlike you, I don’t spend a lot of my time in bars.”

“This one’s special.”

“Riiiight,” she nodded. “You and I ever get more than a few days off at the same time, we’re going somewhere nice. With a beach. Or a mountain. Or a waterfall. Not some bar in Georgia.” 

* * *

Bobbi was reloading her handgun on the couch when she heard an insistent pattering on the window. She glanced up at it to see _Hunter_ looking in through the grime.

The two of them had only seen each other sporadically over the last few months. She had sent him a time and a place when she was on op in Europe, and he had done the same when he was in the States. She'd saved time for him after the op was over—scheduling her flights back to be later, perhaps prolonging her stay to a few days personal leave off S.H.I.E.L.D.—leading to quite a few raised eyebrows from Clint. She’d never had cause to use her leave before, besides a few short visits home, because all her friends—her entire life—were a part of work. She was an agent: dedicated, devoted, loving what she did with no desire to spend her time anywhere else. But that was before she met Lance Hunter.

Which still did not explain what he was doing _here_.

Startled, she thought fast. "Did you hear something?" she asked the man across from her. He nodded, lifting his own gun and casting it around the large, dimly-lit room. "I think it came from the door downstairs," Bobbi suggested. She casually made sure that he saw her gun in two pieces on the couch.

"I'll go check," the man said, beginning to walk toward the stairs. "One of us should be keeping watch anyway...although _the other stuff_ would have been much more fun for both of us." He tromped down them and out of sight, and Bobbi slid the clip into her gun and followed silently, holding the weapon in one hand while reaching into her vest with the other and pulling out a small sheet of sticky paper. He approached the front door and leaned against the wall, peering out with his gun at the ready.

"Behind you," she warned him quietly, alerting her mark to her presence in a soft voice. If he was on edge and trigger-happy right now, the last thing she wanted him to do was turn around and shoot her by accident. She lightly applied the paper to the back of his neck, coming away with just the thin wrapper under the guise of alerting him to her position with a touch, like partners would.

"I don't see anything suspicious out the front door," he told her.

"Maybe the living room?" she suggested.

He nodded and turned towards there, pausing after only a few steps. His gun arm went slack as his left reached out into open air. "Do you see that?” he asked a bit breathlessly. “The lights...the lights are all...bendy, like little...angels." He snatched at nothing and then would have fallen flat on his face had Bobbi not caught him around the waist, lowering him gently to the ground so that there would be no bruise in the morning. Then she ran upstairs and opened the window, where Hunter was hanging onto the ledge for dear life.

"Finally!" he gasped out as she hauled him inside. "What in the bloody hell took you so long?"

"I had some things to take care of before I got to you," Bobbi replied cryptically, leading him over to collapse on the couch.

"Some things?" Hunter asked. "Like that man? Is this a mission I just walked in on?"

"It was." Bobbi sighed, looking around. "But now it's mostly finished. I used your knocking as an excuse to get him downstairs and off my scent, actually..."

"So I helped!" Hunter smiled triumphantly.

"In a way, yes," Bobbi replied grudgingly. "But why did you show up? I know you spotted the location details in my bag a while ago, but it was pretty stupid of you to come here without knowing what you were walking into."

"I came armed," Hunter defended, patting the bulge in his waistband.

"I just pulled you off a second-story window sill."

"Well, at least I didn't try the front door," Hunter said with a shrug. "Bob, it's been weeks since we've seen each other in person. I was going crazy. And I knew where you were going to be. And I was just helpful!"

"I suppose," Bobbi relented, looking him over carefully.

The last time they had seen each other was in Caen, France, and she'd accidentally brought the supposedly-eradicated enemy with her, leading to an electrifying ten minutes of she and Hunter fighting them off in the alley behind the restaurant. Per usual with his need to make snarky comments on everything, he'd asked when they were finished, “So do a lot of your dates end like this, or…?” She'd punched him in the arm, wiping the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. “I’ll remember to bring my gun next time,” he had decided. Turns out he really had taken his own advice.

"Here, you can help even more then," Bobbi told him. "Put these on." She held out to him a pair of blue latex gloves and pulled on a pair of her own. She led him downstairs.

"So, I'm guessing he was your mark?" Hunter asked, standing over the man's body.

"I can neither confirm nor deny that statement," Bobbi replied in monotone. "Here, help me lift him. We have to get him up the stairs and into the master bedroom."

"He's not dead? And why then no cuffs?" Hunter questioned.

"Not dead, just about to be poisoned," Bobbi told him, ripping the little strip of paper off the man's neck and carefully resealing it in the wrapper before it placing back into the interior of her vest. "If he was shot or strangled, there would be a gang war.  If he dies of seemingly natural causes a few weeks from now, no one will be the wiser." They lifted his body and carried him up the stairs between them, careful not to bang him against any of the walls. Then together they hoisted him onto the bed, and Bobbi began to undo the zipper on his jacket.

"What are you doing?" Hunter questioned. She moved on to his pants. "Are you...what kind of mission was this?!"

"An undercover one," Bobbi told him flatly. "I was Nikki, a—"

"Prostitute," Hunter supplied.

She rolled her eyes. "I was never going to let it get that far, but yes."

Bobbi pulled his pants fully off and threw them in a heap by the door, his shirt soon following a little further out. Next she dropped something ripped, black, and lacy next into the bed and pulled the covers over him.

"Oh, very nice," Hunter snarked, looking around. Bobbi also found two glasses for tequila shots, splashed some of said liquid in them, and set them in the main upstairs room. She pressed her lips to one of them to create a nice lipstick mark before going back to the tequila bottle, dumping it out in the sink, and placing it next to the glasses. Now it looked like he and the prostitute had had a good time, and she was just gone in the morning. At the last second, Bobbi remembered to remove Nikki's stiff fee from inside the man's wallet.

"Wait a minute, when exactly were you going to apply that little knock out strip to him?" Hunter asked.

"When I was kissing him," Bobbi answered cleanly.

He was obviously not a fan of her answer. "Why not just stick it on him beforehand? At any point?"

"Because it takes thirty seconds to take effect, and a bullet from his gun would hit me in less than one."

"But you're not dressed like a prostitute,” Hunter pointed out, trying to understand. “Unless he had a fetish for bulletproof vests?"

"The mission had gone a little sideways before you got here," Bobbi sighed. "He investigated my black bag of toys earlier than expected and saw the vest in it. So Nikki the prostitute became Nikki the undercover turncoat who wanted to help him get a step up from everyone else in return for protection. Which is why I used your distraction to my advantage."

"You're welcome."

She rolled her eyes again and pulled a small pouch from her vest, taking out a small purple vial and a small light blue one. Bobbi tilted the man's head so that his mouth was open and poured the liquid in, working his throat to be sure he swallowed it instead of drowned in it.

"You're kind of sinister right now, you know that?" Hunter asked, watching her.

She didn't reply, simply gave the man a minute before repeating the action with the light blue one. Last she pulled out a little bottle full of little pill-shaped items. She slipped one into his mouth and then proffered the bottle to Hunter. "Want one?"

"Uh, you just poisoned that guy," Hunter pointed. "So, ah, no, I'll pass."

"They're Tic Tacs." Bobbi couldn't help but love the way his eyebrows furrowed, though her countenance remained firmly in mission mode.

"Oh. Then, sure, I guess." He sidled up to her awkwardly and took one. "Thanks." He looked around at the room, which was now set with all the signs of a scandalous liaison. "So, now what?"

"Now we find a hotel and get started on what you really came for," Bobbi smiled.

"Good," Hunter grinned. "Now, could you greet me properly for once? As much as I enjoy carrying limp bodies up stairs and orchestrating murder—" She raised an eyebrow. "— _assassinations_ , I did come a long way, so..."

She gave him a kiss. "Better?"

"Much."

“I’ve never had somebody climb up the side of the building for me before...except when they were trying to kill me,” Bobbi informed him as they headed out of the house.

“First time for everything,” Hunter replied cheekily as she locked the door behind them and stripped off her gloves. She took his from him as well.

“You’re a cocky idiot for doing it, but I’m kinda glad you did," she admitted. He gave her that shit-eating grin of his once again before marching off down the street in search of vacancies.

The place they found cost an exorbitant number of euros a night, but she didn't care. They went to dinner at fancy restaurants nearly every time they saw each other; after all, what was an elite spy participating in a plethora of missions to do with the money she's earned? Buy a DVR, perhaps, but that was all. S.H.I.E.L.D. provided the weapons, the medical care, the dresses, the jets... Her life savings over ten years of espionage went to her D.C. apartment, her frequent flights to London, and now her dinners with him. Clint shook his head and called her crazy, her friends teased her mercilessly, but there was no one else she'd rather spend it on, spend it with. As much of an adrenaline rush as she got when under enemy fire or when taking someone down with a few well-placed hits of her staves, Hunter was the one who made her feel the most alive. His was the smile that also lit up hers, and his was the phone call she waited for during her mission downtime. It was his number she texted during especially tedious mission briefings, and it was him whose arms she wanted around her on the frigid, middle-of-operation nights. Platonic Clint could make her feel safe, and did, but Hunter—Hunter made her feel buoyant, full of life.

"What are you thinking about?" Hunter asked. Bobbi realized she'd been standing in front of the elevator doors even after they had opened, and he was already inside. Her hand shot out to keep the doors from closing on her, and she quickly stepped in.

"Nothing," she replied. "Just...glad to see you."

"They say showing is better than telling..." Hunter suggested, stepping closer to her. "Actions speak louder than words and all that..."

"Okay then," she said, challenge in her eyes. "Act."

His lips caught hers almost before she could finish the word, monosyllabic as it was, and she immediately leaned into the kiss. They only pulled apart when the elevator dinged on their floor, and they got out of the cramped space gladly, hands clasped together as they dragged each other towards their door.

“Hold on, key,” Bobbi said, swiping it swiftly. The reading device buzzed unhappily, blaring red back them. She slid it through again with the same result.

“Here, let me try,” Hunter took the card key from her. He pulled it slowly through the slot, receiving only an angry buzz in return.

“Back down to the front desk then?” Bobbi asked, nearly laughing at their bad luck.

“Guess so,” he sighed. He tried once more for good measure, checking the room number to make sure they were actually at the right room. They were. “Race you down the stairs?” Hunter asked.

“You’re on.”

They both took off for the stairwell, almost crashing into an older couple with their luggage as they did so. They were neck and neck as they reached the door to the lobby, and Bobbi had to admit it was probably a tie. After getting their key re-magnetized, they headed back upwards and stopped at their door again.

The reader blinked red again.

“Seriously?” Hunter swore. He swiped it several more times, at varying speeds and orientations. Finally, on his tenth or eleventh try, it clicked open. “What?” he asked. “I didn’t do anything differently, why would it—?”

“Just go in,” she advised with a laugh.

He did, collapsing on the bed face first. “Oof, this bed is soft. Come on, I wanna put it through its paces.”

Bobbi locked the door behind them with a smile, twisting the deadbolt before inserting the key into the holder. “I love you; you know that, right?” she asked, walking toward him.

He turned to look at her. “I didn’t, but now I can tell you that I love you too.”

Her lips curved even further upward to match his grin. The thought of being in love with this man—them being in love with each other—no longer scared her at all.


	7. Operation: H.O.U.S.E.G.U.E.S.T.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Drop" Part I

Bobbi pulled out the keys to her apartment as she hurried up the stairs, eager to be home. When she reached the top, she was met with the scene of her elderly neighbor from across the hall standing over what looked to be a homeless man sitting against the wall.

Not just any wall. The wall right next to her door.

Bobbi sighed. Great.

“Get out of here, you lazy bum!” the crotchety old man said, waving his arms in front of the man. “I don’t know how you got in the front door but we don’t want the likes of you stinking up the place. This is a nice apartment complex, so shoo!”

“Hey!” the man said, and after a split second Bobbi realized the man in question was noone other than Hunter. “I’m waiting for someone!” He looked to the left and spotted her. “I’m waiting for her. Bob! Bob, come over here and tell this—” He muttered something unintelligible under his breath, probably _wacko_ or _nutjob_. “— _man_ to leave me alone!”

“I’m old, not deaf,” the guy told him angrily. “I can hear you, you no-good ruffian!”

“He’s with me,” Bobbi said as she approached them. “Sorry about the disturbance, St—”

“You can do better,” her neighbor said, turning toward her and harrumphing. Bobbi waited until he had walked off toward the stairs before starting to laugh. Hunter scrambled onto his feet.

“That’s what you get for lurking outside my door,” Bobbi chortled.

“I was not _lurking_! I was sitting,” Hunter told her indignantly. “Waiting for you to get home.”

“How long have you been sitting there?” Bobbi asked. She pulled out her phone to check it, but no, there were no missed phone calls or new messages from him.

“Only about an hour,” Hunter replied.

“Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve left work early. Or directed you to a lovely little café down the street where there aren’t any grouchy, nosy neighbors to attack you.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” Hunter said earnestly.

“You certainly did that.” Bobbi unlocked her door and held it open for him. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” he made himself at home on the couch. She knew something was up when she finished unpacking her bag and found him still staring at her. He patted the seat next to him.

“Why do I feel like this is more than just an unexpected rendezvous?” Bobbi asked, cautiously sitting down next to him. Usually he was easier to read than this, but the emotions she was getting off him now were a confusing mix of nervousness, excitement, and anticipation. If he had a ring on him somewhere… Too soon, and she wasn’t afraid to let him know that.

“I’ve left the SAS,” he announced. She just stared at him. “I want to be closer to you, Bobbi. Not on the other side of the world.” He shifted so that he was looking at her directly. “I’ve decided to move here, to the United States.”

Bobbi’s lips parted in surprise. Out of everything he could possibly have said, she didn’t expect him to be leaving his home, let alone his country for her.

“Now, before you freak out, I’m not just moving here for you. You happen to be a big reason for choosing the destination of America. But I am not adding pressure to the relationship. I love… I mean like the way it is,” Hunter explained. And then, because it was impossible for him to stop talking, he continued, “I’ve been planning on leaving the SAS for a long time, for a while now at least, and it had only been a matter of when to leave. Don’t get me wrong, I did love the work there, but I am more of a free spirit. I’ve reconnected with a few old friend of mine, and I’m going to work as a mercenary. Which means, that I can take on missions when you’re busy and stay home—in the U.S.—when you’re free…”

Bobbi leaned forward, silencing him with a kiss. “You talk too much,” she replied, kissing him again. After a few long moments, they pulled apart. “You’re an idiot,” she muttered.

“But I’m your idiot,” Hunter replied. “Wait, why am I an idiot again?”

Bobbi laughed, setting one more chaste kiss on his lips. “I’m happy that you are moving to America,” she promised him. “Do you know where you are going to live yet? Here in D.C.?”

“Of course in D.C.,” Hunter told her. “That’s where you are. I don’t have a place yet, but I know where all of the hotel and motels are so you don’t have to worry. I am already looking for a place now.”

“Well…there’s no point in you staying in hotels, you can just stay here,” Bobbi offered. “Until you find a place, that is.” Her expectant look didn’t really give him an option.

Hunter smiled. “Are you sure? You do return home armed…” he joked, remembering the exact incident in which he’d found that little fact out.

Bobbi laughed at the memory. “Yes, and here you’ll probably have to make your own breakfasts when I go in early for work and eat more healthily than fast food, oh the horror,” she teased.

“I’ll figure something out,” he grinned back.

* * *

“Welcome home!” Hunter greeted her at the door the next day.

“Thanks,” Bobbi smiled. She sniffed, dropping her bag at the door to give him a kiss. “Whoa, did you start dinner cooking?”

“Ah, no,” Hunter grinned sheepishly. “But I did pick up pizza.”

“Good enough,” she told him.

“So you’re still okay with me staying here?”

She laughed. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” she asked, pulling away from him and beginning to head for the bedroom so she could change out of her work clothes.

“No reason,” Hunter replied, following her. “I just needed you to say it before you walked into your bedroom.”

She looked back at him, then hurried to the door of the room in question and opened it. Her eyes swept the room, taking in the bit of food trash on the nightstand and the mussed covers. She walked out again into the kitchen without saying a word, noticing for the first time the dishes in the sink and the beer bottle—well, at least that was in the recycle bin. She turned back to Hunter, who was watching her with a puppy dog expression. She just hoped he hadn’t messed up her bathroom. “You can still stay,” she told him, watching as he broke into a smile again. “But don’t make me house-train you. Clean up after yourself, yeah?”

“Woof,” Hunter replied cheekily. She just laughed and returned to her bedroom to change.

* * *

Bobbi rolled over, her eyes widening and her defense mode kicking in for a split second before remembering that foreign presence in her bedroom would be Hunter lying next to her. She double-checked just to be sure before snuggling up to him.

“You’re getting better..." came his voice out of the darkness. "I have to admit; I love not being attacked in the middle of the night." His arms wrapped around her.

“It was one time,” Bobbi responded, resting her head on his chest.

“No, it was one time that I ended up on the floor. I distinctly remember three times you pinned me to the headboard with the intention of breaking my arm and a further eight times—”

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop talking,” Bobbi warned, no venom in her voice.

“Really?” Hunter questioned as placed a kiss on the top of her head. "What would you do to me?” he asked, his voice taking on a seductive tone.

“I would...” Bobbi stopped for a moment, thinking of the best phrasing, “...make it physically impossible for you to walk for a week.”

Bobbi smirked as after a few seconds his hand went down to protect himself. “Noted.” 

* * *

"Seriously?" Bobbi asked.

"Seriously," Clint confirmed. "How I wish we didn't need him alive… I could just..." He mimed pulling an arrow from his quiver and shooting it.

"I know," Bobbi sighed. She lifted her binoculars again. "I mean, he's even got a broken ankle; this is just pitiful. How far does he think he'll get?"

"Dunno," Barton shrugged. "I guess we ought to go after him."

"You want left or right?"

"Left."

"Okay." Bobbi split from her partner, taking the stairs two at a time as she raced downwards. She skidded to a halt on the tenth floor as the elevator dinged open right in front of her, and after a moment's indecision she stepped inside. Taking the spare seconds to catch her breath in preparation for the next sprint, she was up and running again the minute the doors retracted, feet pounding across the concrete of the short skybridge that would take her to the next building over. A security guard on the other side spotted her but she flashed him a fake MPD badge courtesy of S.H.I.E.L.D. as she went by, heading up the stairs again.

Bobbi burst onto the roof with her staves drawn and ready, looking around for their target. She had seen no sign of him on her stairwell and the analysts watching the cameras back at the Atrium hadn't alerted her to movement at the front doors or back entrances, so that meant he was still somewhere in this building, hobbling along.

“Did you get him?” Clint asked, coming up beside her from the opposite stairwell.

“No, didn’t you?” Bobbi questioned. They both scanned the rooftop again.

“Ah, shit,” he pointed to their right. A small figure took a flying leap off the roof of the next building over, dropping over its low wall and out of sight.

“Really?” Bobbi hissed, disgruntled. “He must have seen us coming, decided he’d rather take a jump for it. And come right back up here.” She headed for the edge of their roof, peering over it at the ground some ten stories below. Then she backed up and ran straight for the gap, springing forward at the exact right moment to sail across the bit of open air and land shakily on the other side. Clint followed a few seconds later, completing the leap with a short barrel roll. Bobbi looked ahead to see the man they were chasing already another roof beyond.

“And this is why Fury keeps warning us not to get cocky,” Barton sighed. They made a run for the next gap at the same time, landing in concert. Gravel bit painfully into Bobbi’s hands as she used them as a last resort stop her own momentum. “Man with the broken ankle’s beating us,” Clint complained. “Are you sure I can’t just shoot him?”

The third roof turned out to be half a story lower than the others, and it almost felt like Bobbi’s knees were going to give out as she smacked against the concrete. “Good news,” she panted after their fourth. “We’ve reached the end of the row. Next one for jumper-man’s six stories down.”

“Finally,” her partner said. When they reached the final building, Bobbi and Clint caught barely a glimpse of their target before he disappeared over the edge.

“Did he just jump?” Bobbi demanded, running over to the spot in question.

“Fire escape,” they sighed at the same time. Bobbi swung herself over the ledge first, landing with a jolt—nothing compared to leaping-across-buildings jolts, but at this point even a slight jar set her legs aflame—and hurried down the steps. She could see the man below her look up at his pursuers and then redouble his speed, seemingly ignoring the fact that his ankle was broken at all. The wonders of adrenaline.

When the two of them reached the ground, Bobbi and Clint separated wordlessly with Bobbi on the direct pursuit and Clint looking for a shortcut and analyzing the likely possibilities of where the man could be headed. Her feet pounded the sidewalk as she kept her eyes trained on the man in front of her, weaving in and out of passerby as needed. She skidded to a stop on the street corner after a particularly large crowd of tourists had blocked her line of sight—the man wasn’t anywhere to be found. And there was only one building he could have entered in the time he was out of her sight.

A church, really? Bobbi thought to herself as she opened the large oak door. He did realize that S.H.I.E.L.D. didn’t put the sanctity of a place of worship above catching him, right? The cool air was most welcome as it hit her face, and she scanned the interior for rapid movement. It was a rookie mistake she was hoping he would make—the proper thing to do in a situation like this, as any spy would know, was to blend in—but this man wasn’t a spy.

Triumphantly she spotted him disappearing behind one of the curtains next to the main altar and made a beeline for him. She jabbed sharply with the head of her baton at the mass behind the velvety fabric and a loud cuss word was shouted from it into the otherwise silent church. Every head—the man by the candles at the far end, the two old ladies in the pews, and the grumpy-looking priest who had just walked in the side door—turned towards them.

“Shhh!” exclaimed one of the ladies.

“Official MPD business, just relax,” Clint walked in behind the priest holding a fake badge aloft. “Everything’s under control. Go back to your praying.” He gave a nod to Bobbi and she pulled the man out from behind the curtains, dragging him by the shirt collar onto the floor. Clint walked up with the handcuffs and clipped them around the man’s wrists before pulling him to his feet.

She glanced around to see that everyone else had gone back to their own business and didn’t suspect anything odd. The two ladies were still giving them the stink eye, but they had their hands clasped and seemed largely unaffected. The priest was wringing his hands and hovering by the edge of the altar; one of them was going to have to talk to him. And the man by the candles…was staring at her. She squinted in the dim light and realized with an arc of electricity down her spine that it was Hunter. What the hell was he doing here? With candles, no less?

“Clint,” she said, turning to him. “You start processing this guy, I’ll smooth things over with the priest.”

Her partner nodded, gesturing to the man’s ankle. It was nearly twice the normal size. “All those  roof acrobatics came at a price, it seems,” he said with a smile. “If it was broken before, I think it’s safe to say it’s shattered now.” He tugged the man forward, forcing him to hop on his one good leg. Only Clint’s strong hand on his shirt collar allowed him to keep his balance.

“Please, I didn’t mean to… I panicked,” the man said.

“All right,” Clint relented. “We’ll walk slow. Let’s go.”

“Meet you at the van,” Bobbi called after him. She approached the priest showing her badge again while keeping one eye on Hunter, who was still watching her. “We apologize for the intrusion. We’d been chasing him for blocks, and apparently he thought a church would make a good refuge.”

“What was he wanted for?” the priest asked.

“Questioning about a bank robbery,” Bobbi replied automatically. “Thank you for your cooperation.” He nodded uncertainly and she turned away, heading down the steps towards the back of the church. Hunter immediately turned back to the array of candles, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. Didn’t he know that she’d made him minutes ago?

“Hunter?” she asked, stopping a few feet away.

Hunter stiffened at the sound of his name and spun around, pretending to be surprised to see her. There was a small bulge under the back of his coat—if she wasn’t mistaken, he was carrying. He glanced between her and the smoking wooden stick in his hand, as if wondering if it was too late to hide it behind his back. “Bobbi, what are you doing here?” he asked. Apparently he decided it was.

Bobbi furrowed her eyebrows. “I think you just saw what I’m doing here; what are you doing here?” A church wasn’t high on the list of places she’d expect to find Lance Hunter—a bar, definitely, but a church? She’d spent enough Sunday mornings lying in bed with him to know that wasn’t his style.

Hunter sighed, almost looking embarrassed to be there. “Just lighting a candle.” On a normal day, that comment would have come packaged with a heavy dose of his signature sarcasm. That fact that it wasn’t worried Bobbi.

“What happened? Is your mother okay?” Bobbi asked, and when Hunter nodded, she moved on with her questioning. “Your sisters?”

“They’re all fine. I’m lighting a candle for the man that died on my mission,” Hunter informed her, his voice calm and distant.

“One of yours?” Bobbi asked concernedly.

He cleared his throat. “No. He, ah—wasn’t.”

“You killed someone?” she said softly, making the connection.

“It was part of the mission; he was a cutthroat drug-dealer,” Hunter explained.

Bobbi shook her head. “I never said it wasn’t justified. I’m just...confused. Are you lighting a candle for…?”

Hunter didn’t answer right away, just blew out the smolder on the tip of the stick and gestured for her to join him in one of the pews. She sat down next to him. “I always do,” he admitted after a moment of silence. “I always light a candle for every single person who died because of me on a mission, regardless of who they were.”

“Oh,” Bobbi said, not knowing quite how to respond but lacing her fingers with his. It was a ritual she’d never pegged him to be the type for—one she didn’t participate in herself. She preferred rationalization as her personal reconciliation for her actions. It was a very emotional ritual, this, and Hunter hadn’t struck her as one who would linger with the sad.

“So what you’re doing here, it has to do with S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Hunter inquired, beginning to play with her fingers absentmindedly.

Bobbi hesitated as she looked down at their hands. Her first instinct was to lie, maintain her cover, but she’d already told him on their first date that MPD was her cover. It wasn’t like he didn’t already know she was S.H.I.E.L.D. “Yeah.”

“You caught the guy.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, unwilling to push him any further. It was the most vulnerable she’d ever seen him.

“Do you remember everything about them?” Hunter asked suddenly. “I know you’ve killed people—what with you being a spy and all—do you remember everything?”

“Like what?” Bobbi frowned. “There’s...no point, I guess. If I wanted to know any of that stuff I could look it up, it’s all on file, but—”

“That’s not what I mean,” Hunter said. “Their death...it’s not...seared in your brain? Their face? What you knew about them before you took the shot?”

Bobbi bit her lip and shook her head. Should she remember all that? Was it...wrong...of her to not hold onto stuff like that, make her cold and unfeeling? Perhaps cold and unfeeling was what her job demanded.

“The first person I killed…” Hunter murmured. “I learned every single detail about him. His name was Alexander Brian Muchamore, but his friends called him Alex. His dad died when he was fifteen. His mum was a volunteer at the soup kitchen. He had a wife, Sandra, and two children, Robert and Kyle—they were four and seven at the time. He was a Christian; they went to church every Sunday together. He ended up helping one of his old friends with an illegal job a couple of months before his death. This was the second time; I don't even know if he knew it was illegal. A team of five snuck onto the ship I was on, two of them were setting explosives, two were loading up random amounts of cargo—the last one was attempting to access our computer. We never did know why or what their intentions were—three were taken out, one of them killed the other and then committed suicide. I shot Alex in the chest. The paramedics said it would have taken six minutes for him to die from bloodloss.” Bobbi squeezed his hand.

“I don’t remember things like that,” she confessed. “But you do, and that’s...that’s what makes you a good person, Lance. You care. A lot. More than most in our business.”

“It hurts to care,” he told her, resting his head on her shoulder.

“That just means you’re doing it right.” He was silent, the only indication that he had heard her being the slight squeeze of his hand on hers. “Don’t you have a criminal to take in?” he asked finally.

She’d totally forgotten about that. Clint was probably waiting for her, wondering if the priest had decided to be extra finicky. "You're right," she said regretfully. He lifted his head from her shoulder to let her go and she brushed her thumb over the short hairs just above the back of his neck. "Go home when you're ready. I'll meet you there as soon as I can, all right?"

He nodded, the fingers of their intertwined hands clinging together until the last possible moment as she exited the pew.

"Hey," Clint greeted her outside on the sidewalk. "Priest make you stick around to pray for his soul or something?"

"Something like that," Bobbi nodded.

"Well, our guys brought the van around, so Jumperman's all loaded up," Clint tapped the glass. Bobbi raised an eyebrow in spite of herself. "You called him that while we were chasing him across rooftops; apparently it stuck with the analysts back at HQ," he explained.

"Let's go then," Bobbi agreed. "Get this guy in a cell ASAP."

"Why, you got somewhere to be?"

"Something like that," Bobbi replied again. Clint knew better than to ask from the look on her face.

“Okay, back to the Atrium then," Clint nodded.


	8. Operation: S.P.I.D.E.R.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Drop" Part II

Bobbi woke up to her phone going off. She struggled to reach it with her body still intertwined with Hunter’s but managed. “Morse,” she answered. “Yes, sir. I’m on my way.” She set the phone back down on the nightstand with a sigh, and only then does she see that it was barely 4 A.M. “Lance…” she said quietly, her voice apologetic. Maybe he was still asleep. 

“I heard,” Hunter replied, opening his eyes reluctantly before separating their bodies and sitting up. “Gotta love those early morning wake up calls.”

Bobbi slid out of bed, grabbing her S.H.I.E.LD. outfit from the closet and walking into the bathroom, leaving the door open—there was no point in closing it. When changed and ready for the day, she walked out to find the bed empty and Hunter, only in boxers, making her a coffee-to-go and sleepily opening cupboards to find her breakfast. 

“You should have stayed in bed; you don’t need to get up when I do,” Bobbi told him, slinging her bag over her shoulder. 

Hunter smiled at her, finding some granola and putting the lid on the cup before making his way over to her. “But I want to, I like being awake when you are—besides, the bed is just not the same without you. I still can’t sleep when you’re not there to kick me.”

Bobbi laughed, accepting the flask and granola as they shared a kiss. “I love you,” she said as they pulled apart. 

“I love you too, Bob. Don’t die out there,” he reminded her.

“I don’t plan to, can’t have you having insomnia all alone,” Bobbi quipped before kissing his cheek and leaving their apartment. She waited a few seconds, listening to Hunter’s footfalls back towards the bedroom. “Can’t sleep without me there, yeah right.” She rolled her eyes before heading down the stairs to her car. 

* * *

 

Her hands clenched the staves tightly before releasing into a loosened grip, a stress-relieving habit on a tense op. "Barton, I'm in position," she said, peeking up over the stone balcony for a quick scan of the crowds below.

"Acknowledged. I'm on my way now; I had to take care of some unexpected guards along the way," Clint replied in her ear. Bobbi chanced another look down at the population, looking for anyone out of place. Normally looking for a Russian in a crowd of Japanese would be easy, but with all the foreign reporters here for the Prime Minister’s speech, she couldn't identify the target from way up here. She knew she was down there—intel told them that much from several past hits—but not where the assassin was hiding.

Bobbi ran the mission objectives over in her head. Protect the Prime Minister of Japan. Locate the assassin known as the Black Widow. Gather intel on her and, if possible, take her out, but only  _ after _ the prime minister's speech. It was a good thing locating and terminating was Clint's part in all this, because only the agent accurately codenamed Hawkeye could spot her in this crowd.

" あなた! Anata wa koko de nani o shite iru no?" shouted someone from behind her.

"すみません," Bobbi answered without turning around, "watashi wa shushō no enzetsu no tame ni hana o haichi shite imasu."  _ I am arranging flowers for the Prime Minister's speech. _ Without warning, she spun and chucked her right stave at the guard's head. It glanced off his temple and he fell to the ground. Glancing furtively around, she picked up the stave and then dragged the body into a small cubby off to the side, zip-tying his wrists. He'd break free pretty easily, but she'd be in even more hot water if she let any S.H.I.E.L.D. tech—like their special electrical handcuffs—fall into anyone else's hands. Blood trickled slowly from his head, but the wound was small. He'd survive with a killer headache and perhaps a concussion when he woke up. Between her and Clint, they'd have a lot of explaining to do if any more bodies piled up, unconscious or no.

"All right, beginning to search for target. I'll let you know when I have visual," Barton told her.

"Copy that." She looked to the left over the wall to another part of the balcony where two white-and-red flags were mounted. She could see movement. "I think it's starting. I'm moving closer."

"Let his own guards deal with his protection while he's onstage," Clint reminded her, "unless you have confirmation that it's really the Black Widow. The last thing we need is these reporters from all over the globe seeing and filming a S.H.I.E.L.D. operation."

"Copy that," Bobbi replied, moving stealthily towards that section of the balcony. Her footsteps were soft against the vanilla stone. She could see the prime minister now, a short, balding Japanese man flanked by four Secret Service equivalents. When she was close enough to hear the mutterings of the bodyguards she stopped again, not daring to take another look from her new vantage point. If they saw her here, past the guards at the outer gates, the men at the stairwells, and the regular patrols along the balcony, his entire speech would be called off, and their target would disappear again.

Her earpiece crackled. "Bobbi, there's something—" It cut out. Bobbi stiffened, alarmed. Her heartbeat quickened, sending strong pulses of blood through her body.

"Clint? What's happening?" There was no response. She twisted the dial of her earpiece. "HQ, this is Mockingbird. I've lost contact with Hawkeye. Do you have a read on him?" On an op like this when a foreign party could be listening in on their "secure" channel, it was dangerous to use their real names when communicating with anyone outside the facility. Only she and Barton had a direct link.

"Mockingbird, this is HQ. we are trying to re-establish contact, stand by."

"Should I rendezvous with him?"

"Hold your position," came the curt reply. Bobbi clenched her hands around her staves as she pulled them from her belt, disliking her orders but obeying them nonetheless.

Her earpiece crackled again. "Bob—Black Wid—me—eed assista—northeast corridor," Barton said, breaking up. Bobbi spun around until she was facing the opposite direction of the prime minister and scuttled forward and her hands and feet to stay below the height of the balcony before pushing herself off the ground and sprinting for the northeast corridor.

Running at full tilt around a corner, she caught barely a glimpse of a red-haired woman and the back of Clint before he came smashing into her, sending them both to the ground with him on top of her. The wind was knocked out of her as his back crushed into her chest. She launched him upwards and to his feet before leaping to hers, staves at the ready. She and Black Widow stared at each other, analyzing and sizing the other up before either of them made a move.

The Black Widow wasn't exactly what Bobbi had expected. She had long, straight, dark red hair that fell to her mid-back and was a lot younger than Bobbi had imagined from her deadly reputation. Cold, fierce blue eyes were constantly calculating as she raked her up and down. She was smaller and thinner than Bobbi had anticipated, although the woman had just thrown Barton three feet across a hallway, so who was she to judge?

Clint nocked an arrow but Widow foresaw its arrival, side-stepping without so much as a flinch. She attacked again then, a spinning kick followed by an undercut designed to take both of them to the floor. Bobbi responded with a swipe of her stave, which the assassin avoided. Next to her, Barton managed a swift kick to her stomach, forcing Black Widow back a few steps. Their adversary coughed, doubling over and still backing away. Bobbi approached with staves swinging only to have a suddenly recovered Widow duck underneath and come up behind her, smashing her face-and-arms first into the wall. She evidently hadn't been as hurt as she'd pretended.

Momentary stars danced before Bobbi's eyes before she slumped against the wall. She blinked slowly, trying to come to terms with the fogginess and pain that had suddenly set upon her. Dimly in the background she was aware of Barton going on the attack again. Sliding uncontrollably downward with muscles of jello she landed hard on her ass, leg twisted in an awkward position beneath her. A red-and-black blur launched herself at the man her muddled brain identified as Clint.

Pushing past her dizziness, Bobbi stumbled to her feet and picked up her staves from where they had fallen. Widow and Barton were locked in a standstill, bow against forearm, and Bobbi groggily crept up behind the assassin, pressed the two hilt ends of her staves together, and then drove them into the base of the woman's neck. The fused caps clattered as one to the floor as electricity arced up Widow's spine and she fell to the ground unconscious. "It's a good thing I wasn't touching her directly," Clint said before spitting out a globule of blood. "A little warning next time would be appreciated."

"If I warn you it ruins the point," Bobbi replied, looking down at her foe. Her eyes alighted on the silenced pistol in a custom holster on the Widow's thigh and she drew it, pointing it at the woman's head.

"Wait, don't," Barton said suddenly. He cast a hand out over the Black Widow's unmoving body as if to shield her from Bobbi's shot.

Her finger was poised over the trigger. "What, why?" she asked. "Have our orders changed?"

"Yes. I'm changing them," he said, reaching down to snap metal S.H.I.E.L.D. restraint bracelets on her wrists. "I'll take responsibility at HQ."

"I know I'm still a bit fuzzy from getting smashed into the wall and everything, but I thought you just advocated sparing the life of a master assassin contract killer with Soviet ties and eighty-five hits to her name  _ that we know of _ . Who also just tried to kill us both."

Barton gave her a look. "It's...it's something about her, something I recognize from my past."

"Like you've met her before?"

He appeared surprised at her statement, like that hadn't been what he had been thinking at all. "No, like there's still a person in there. Someone salvageable, someone worth saving."

"S.H.I.E.L.D.'s prime directive is to protect. By letting her live, you're putting everyone else in danger," Bobbi told him. "She's dangerous."

"I am protecting. I'm protecting her from herself, or from whoever's forcing her to do this. Assassins aren't born; they're made." He tapped his earpiece. "Target has been taken care of. Requesting extraction plan alpha-one."

"Confirmation, please. Target has been terminated?"

"Yes, the threat has been eliminated," Barton replied. He felt Widow's pulse before standing up straight again.

"Well done, Hawkeye, Mockingbird," the analyst said in their ears. "Extraction alpha-one. See you back at HQ."

* * *

"Would either of  _ you _ ,” Nick Fury began in a booming voice that reverberated around the large office, “like to explain to  _ me _ why I now have a Soviet assassin credited with eighty-five high-profile deaths taking up one of the secure cells downstairs?” 

“I take full responsibility, sir,” Clint replied, looking their boss in the eyes with just the right amount of chastised-submissiveness. 

“I don’t give a rat’s ass who’s taking the blame for this—as far as I’m concerned, you are both at fault,” Fury told him. “Barton, you’re supposed to have a more level head on your shoulders than this. You knew exactly what the mission directives were. Morse, you were supposed to make sure everything ran smoothly and protect the Japanese prime minister.”

“He survived,” Bobbi pointed out. Fury affixed his one eye on her and she fell silent. 

“What am I supposed to do with her now?” Fury asked them. Neither was stupid enough to dare a reply. The director returned his angry gaze to Clint. “We don’t do executions, Barton. So I told you to take her out in the field, when civilians were in danger, not drag her back here. Do you know how much high-tier security costs for someone like her? How difficult it is to maintain over extended periods of time? You jeopardized the safety of every agent on this base by bringing her here.” 

“That wasn’t my intention, sir,” Clint said.

Fury rolled his eyes. “I know it wasn’t—if it had been, you’d be out of here by now and not coming back, no matter how skilled with a bow you are. But you’re putting me in a difficult spot. The Council wants answers, and I don’t know what I can give them.”

“If I may speak freely—"

"You may not."

"—screw the Council," Clint said anyway. 

"Excuse me?"

"Clint," Bobbi hissed before he could dig himself into an even deeper hole. He ignored her. 

"I think she could be valuable intel, sir. On the Russians, what they're planning."

"And you think she'll just tell you all this."

"I think you should let me take point on the interrogation." 

Fury was silent, calculating, then: "Why?"

"Because I'm one of the most skilled interrogators you have, I'm benched anyway, and I've already completed step one by not terminating her—gain the trust of the subject, even if just a little bit."

"That's step one when talking to a patsy or potential turncoat, not a killer, Barton." Clint didn't answer, just waited for the verdict. Fury sighed. "But you bring up some good points. As you've brought this mess to our doorstep, you might as well help to clean it up. Widow's yours, with the usual conditions. And you're right, you're benched—both of you. Two weeks, unless there's a crisis that's all hands on deck." He eyed the two of them. "Orders are orders, Barton and Morse, no matter how high up in S.H.I.E.L.D. you are."

"Yes, sir, thank you," Clint nodded. Bobbi said the same—minus the thank-you—and together they turned to leave his office. 

"Agent Morse," Fury stopped her. "Wait."


	9. Operation: S.U.N.S.E.T.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Drop" Part III

"So," Clint greeted her outside of the director's office, "do you want to hit the gym for a spar or are you headed home?" 

"Home," Bobbi replied shortly. His gaze flicked over her face and he frowned. 

"You okay?" He placed a hand on her shoulder. "What did Fury say in there?"

She shrugged him off, walking faster towards the elevator. At the last second she swerved, heading up the stairs. He never could mount them as quickly as her. 

"Hey!" he said, realizing what she was doing. With a burst of speed he managed to catch her wrist, pulling her back down. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" she asked incredulously. "You got us benched, Clint. For a  _ serial killer _ ."

"She's not a..."

"Really?" Bobbi challenged. "Look up the definition, Barton."

"Okay, fine," he said. "I'm sorry I got us suspended. Is it really that bad? I get to work with the Black Widow while I'm on base; you get to go home and get up at decent hours and spend uninterrupted time with Hunter. What's the problem?"

"Fury's threatening to have me reassigned."

Clint blinked. "Reassigned? Like, to a new partner? Who...who did they have in mind?"

"Really, that's the part of that statement you focus on?" She glared at him. "They consider me a veteran agent now, so a new one from the Academy is who I'd get."

"A cadet?" Clint's eyebrows rose. 

"Fury even had one picked out, Sabrina Park. Despite the fact that I'd be dragged down on the list again." 

"I think I know that name," Barton said. "Female, Korean, top of her class?"

"Yes. Fury even gave me her file," Bobbi fished a flash drive out of her pocket and waved it in his face. "He's serious, Clint." 

"What about you?" Clint asked carefully. 

"I don't want to, obviously. We get all the good ops, the interesting ones. If Fury's giving me the choice—which it sounds like he is, this time—I would stay with you."

"Good," Clint gave her a fleeting smile, glad her anger seemed to have abated somewhat. "Why would Fury separate us now? You'd think it would have been when we were  _ actually _ compromised."

"I left my post to help you with Widow without waiting for S.H.I.E.L.D. confirmation and then I let you take her alive," Bobbi said flatly. "That's plenty compromised for Fury."

Clint sighed. “Yes, well…”

“Now you know,” Bobbi said. “Don’t pull anything stupid like that again.” She wrenched her wrist out of his grip. “I’m going home. See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he agreed, watching her go. 

Bobbi let her car door slam behind her as she hit the button to lock it before heading up the stairs to her apartment, frustration bubbling up within her again now that she didn’t have Barton’s placating tones in her ear. She had mostly remained calm through everything: through Clint deciding to change their mission and bring the target back to base, through the meeting with Fury, through the chewing-out and getting suspended. She was composed, in control. But now she just wanted to throw herself down on the couch and blankly stare at the TV until all memories of the day were wiped from her head. 

Unfortunately, her couch was occupied. 

"How'd it go?" Hunter asked, splayed across it as she came into the room. She dropped her bag on the floor with a thump. “That well, huh?” She didn’t answer, just kicked it hard into the corner. “Bob?”

"Did you see news of an international incident on TV?"

"...No?" he said, unsure of the correct response to that.

"Then you have your answer." She crossed to the couch and plopped down on it, nearly landing on his feet as he scrambled to sit properly and make room for her. There was silence for a moment, and then she said, “Clint got us suspended.” Bobbi shifted unhappily, unstrapping her belt and gun holster and throwing in the general direction of her bag. 

“What happened?” Hunter asked, venturing a hand over hers. 

“He…” She searched for the right, still classified, words. “...He decided to practically sabotage the mission by making friends with an assassin.” She kicked off her shoes and rested her feet atop the coffee table. 

“Doesn’t sound like a very smart bloke to me,” Hunter replied. 

“He normally is...I don’t know what it was about this woman,” Bobbi admitted. “And he wouldn’t tell me, either, and now we’re both out for the next two weeks. I didn’t graduate top of my class from the Academy to be stuck at a desk going over the paperwork for somebody  _ else’s  _ mission!”

“Then don’t,” Hunter said suddenly. “Don’t go into work tomorrow.”

“What?” The notion was so off-the-wall that she actually laughed. “What would I do instead?”

“I’ve got no specific plans lined up for the next few weeks,” he told her. “We could go somewhere. See the world.”

“See the world?” she lifted an eyebrow. “Sounds an awful lot like our regular ops to me.”

“Yes, but without the shooting and getting shot at,” Hunter said. “We’ll make that the first rule of vacation: no bullets.”

“You’re serious.”

He grinned. “Can’t you tell, super-spy? This is my serious face. We could go to...Tokyo,” he pulled off the top of his head.

She shook her head, biting her tongue to keep from blurting out why exactly the whole of Japan was crossed off the potential destinations list. “Costa Rica.”

“Too humid. Spain.”

“Cartagena.”

“Deal.”

She paused, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Are we really doing this?”

“I’ll book the tickets; you call S.H.I.E.L.D. up and tell them to find someone else to do their busy work,” Hunter told her in answer. She pulled her phone out of her pocket as he ran to get a computer. 

“Morse for Director Fury,” she said. Bobbi didn't take no for an answer. 

* * *

 

Fourteen hours later they were stepping through the front door of a lovely, romantic hotel in Spain. "Hello," the receptionist at the counter said with a heavy accent. "Would you like to check into your room?"

"Sí, gracias," Bobbi smiled. 

The woman laughed, responding in kind. "¿Habla Ud. mucho español? Su pronunciación es buena para una americana."

"No mucho," Bobbi replied. "Lo aprendí durante mis viajes."

"Show-off," Hunter muttered to her. "But two can play that game." He addressed the receptionist. "Tenemos una reservación de cuarto número cuarenta." 

"Perfecto," the woman replied, consulting her computer. "¿Lance Hunter?"

"Soy él," Hunter confirmed. 

"Aquí están sus llaves," the woman handed over their keys. "Suban la escalera a su derecha y encuentren la segunda puerta a la izquierda. ¡Díganme si necesitan algo más!"

"Muchas gracias," Bobbi repeated. "Where did you learn to speak Spanish?" she demanded of him as they mounted the stairs. 

“You’re not the only one with secrets,” Hunter replied cryptically. They found the second door to the right as the receptionist had directed them and went inside. Bobbi went to check that all the amenities in the bathroom worked while Hunter began to unpack a bit—not so much as to put clothes in drawers, but just enough so that they didn't have to be digging through stuffed suitcases trying to find the sunscreen. She walked back into the main room and frowned at the silver glint coming out of Hunter's unzipped bag. She fished the item out. 

"Really, Hunter?" Bobbi asked, holding up the metal flask. 

“It’s for celebrating...or making the situation less awkward,” Hunter replied easily. "Stay out of my stuff!"

“What situation?” Bobbi inquired, tossing the flask back into his bag and walking to her own, which was lying on her half of the bed. 

“You’ll see,” he said, half-smirking, half-grinning. 

Bobbi rolled her eyes, but continued unpacking. He had promised her a few surprises over the course of this vacation. She knew that there was a chance she’d be called in for a mission before he could reveal them all to her and wondered if Hunter knew that too. She didn't think that was quite the kind of surprise Hunter had meant and was looking forward to, but it was a possibility regardless. She hoped it wouldn't happen; she hated imagining the look in Hunter's eyes as she made her excuses to him and he let her go. 

Then again, after everything that had happened, Fury and she didn’t particularly want to see each other’s faces for the next two weeks. Perhaps pissing off her boss would be their saving grace. 

* * *

 

“I’m going to miss this,” Bobbi admitted, looking out at the ocean and then back at Hunter beside her. 

Hunter slung his arm over her shoulders. “Me too, waking up to the smell of the beach with my arms around the most amazing woman on the planet—definitely heaven.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling profusely. “Hunter…”

“You know I have a first name, right?” Hunter teased, kissing her forehead. "I say we take one last walk down the beach before we’re forced to leave and go back to reality.” 

“Your last name’s for scolding you when you make me blush,” she told him. “But sure, a walk on the beach—I would love to.”

“So that’s why you always scream my last name in bed,” he teased with a wink before standing up. 

“Hunter!” she hit him on the arm.

“Yes, just like that.”

“You are…” she trailed off, unable to come up with an appropriate adjective. “Let’s just take that walk now, shall we?”

Hunter laughed as he grabbed a bag from one of the drawers and slipped it into his pocket. "After you—I know you love being in charge," he continued teasing. 

She headed out the door ahead of him, taking the stairs two at a time and nearly flying out the hotel’s double doors. He caught up to her at the edge of the sand. “Sunset’s starting,” she nodded toward the color-filled sky. 

Hunter looked up and smiled. “I guess we should find a nice spot," he said, placing a shaky hand on her back. What the hell was wrong with him?

“Spot for…?” she asked. 

“Spot...to make out, of course,” Hunter said with a nervous laugh. He cleared his throat. “My mum wants a nice picture of us,” he added quickly. 

“Making out?” Bobbi questioned incredulously. “Your mum asked for a picture of us making out? And you’re actually going to give her one?”

“No... _ no _ ! That’s not what I meant." Hunter looked at their surroundings, eyes darting around quickly. "You know, I like this spot just fine—oh, and if any of my mates asks, can you tell them I asked in bed, after sex?” Hunter asked as a small smirk appeared on his lips. “Or during it.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Bobbi informed him. He seemed to be continuing a conversation which they weren’t currently having. 

“I’m not...maybe this would…” Hunter muttered as he looked down and pulled out a small cloth bag. He promptly dropped it and quickly bent down to retrieve it, standing back up and taking out a velvet box from its depths. He smiled at her. “Right, Bob…” He stopped again and got down onto one knee. “Bobbi Morse—will you marry me?” For all of his fumbling and mumbling, he asked the question clearly, looking straight up at her as he opened the box to revealed the ring. 

She froze with her lips parted slightly. Was he…? Did he just…? Her heartbeat shot up three notches as she gazed helplessly between his hopeful face and the diamond ring in front of her. “Yes!” 

Hunter blinked and didn’t move for a second as the world seemed to stand still. “Wait, you said yes?” he said with relief before standing up and pulling her into a long kiss. 

“Yes, you doofus, of course I did,” Bobbi said softly once they pulled apart. “What did you think my reply would be?”

“To be honest, I wasn't sure... Here, this is yours now,” Hunter admitted, handing over the box and ring. 

She handed it right back. “You’re supposed to put that on my finger, you know.”

Hunter laughed. "That’s just in the movies—right, okay, which finger?” he asked, taking the ring out of the box and shoving the box back into his pocket. He held the ring out for a moment of what she hoped was fake indecision before gently taking hold of her proffered left hand and slipping the perfectly fitted ring onto the correct finger without her having to actually tell him. She stared down at the unfamiliar sparkle on her third finger before throwing her arms around him and capturing his lips again. 

“This is  amazing,” she breathed. “You’re amazing. I didn’t expect… I mean, the trip was so last minute—how long have you been planning this?”

“Well...I bought the ring about nine weeks ago and was just waiting for the perfect moment. Got it sized according to that fake one from S.H.I.E.L.D. you accidentally wore home one day for your undercover op—"

"So that's why that went missing for a few days!"

Hunter laughed. "—and then when you agreed to the trip, I just knew it would be the perfect time. I originally intended to do it at sunrise, but we never made it out of bed in time," Hunter continued, talking fast as if to distract her from his admission. 

“Nine weeks!” Bobbi exclaimed, not missing a beat. “Did you talk to my dad and everything?”

“Before I brought the ring. Seriously feared for my life in the process, too... I know where you get your glare from,” Hunter replied, shivering at the memory. “If it wasn’t for your mum, I don’t think I would be here to propose.” 

“He’s just protective of his only daughter,” Bobbi told him, smiling at his account of her dad’s intimidation. “You should’ve seen the looks on the faces of the boys who came to pick me up for prom. He was even scarier back then—did he casually wave a gun around while you were there?”

“Nope—he just showed me the gun collection,” Hunter admitted. 

“See, he likes you,” Bobbi laughed. 

“That’s good to hear, because he  _ is _ about to become my father-in-law—” Hunter broke off as his eyes widened. “You tell my mother about this; I don’t think I could stand the excitement.”

“Okay, sure,” Bobbi pulled out her phone, mock-dialing a number. “Hi Ms. Hunter, I’m just calling to let you know Lance asked me to marry him but was too much of a chicken to call and tell you the good new—”

Hunter quickly grabbed the phone from her. “I hate you," he grumbled, shaking his head. “Fine, I’ll tell her—later. Right now, I think some celebrating is in order, Future Mrs. Hunter.”

“What do you have in mind, Future Mr. Morse?” Bobbi asked, twirling a lock of her hair. 

“Either skinny-dipping or going back to our room; either way, clothes are not required,” he replied in a low voice, his fingers hooking into the belt loops of her jeans to pull her closer to him. 

“Your choice,” Bobbi whispered. “But clothes are  _ definitely  _ not required.”

Hunter practically growled before taking her by the hand and dragging her—quite willingly—to his chosen destination.


	10. Operation: P.A.N.C.A.K.E.S.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Turn" Part I

Hunter walked out of the bathroom, clad in just a pair of shorts. He sauntered over to Bobbi, who was situated at the table already, breakfast half-eaten. He stopped behind her chair, peering over her into the bowl. “Oatmeal?” he questioned.

“Yes…?”

“I need to get you eating more interesting breakfasts.”

“This is more economical, and it’s quick in case I need to be running out the door,” Bobbi replied. A new thought occurred to her. “Besides, you eat leftover pizza for breakfast,” she pointed out, looking up at him with a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. 

“You’re the one who can never finish them and complain about wasting food. I’m doing you a  _ favor _ ,” Hunter informed her, smirking.

“Is that so? Maybe I should thank you then,” she teased. 

Hunter leaned down, leaving a chaste kiss on her lips. “Actually, I should thank you. Pizza for breakfast is the best,” he muttered. 

“Too bad we don’t have any leftover pizza today. What on Earth are you going to eat?” Bobbi asked, finishing her last spoonful of oatmeal. 

“ _ We _ are going to have pancakes,” Hunter informed her, holding out his hand. Bobbi laughed, allowing him to pull her up and straight into his arms as he planted another kiss on her lips. 

“I thought you said you couldn’t cook?” she asked. “I don’t want to be scrubbing black burned shmuck out of my pans later…”

“I recall saying no such thing,” Hunter said, mocking affront before pulling her into the kitchen. “Pancakes are one of my areas of expertise!” 

Bobbi hopped up onto the counter, watching him expectantly. “Impress me,” she replied, crossing her ankles. 

“By the way you’ve been staring at my chest, I already have,” Hunter quipped, smirking at her before turning away.  He pulled out two eggs and the jug of milk from the fridge and the sack of all-purpose flour from the cupboard. He stopped. “Where do you keep the mixing bowls?”

Bobbi hit the correct cabinet with her foot. “Right here, but those aren’t the ingredients you need,” she informed him. She had half a mind to jump down and help him before this all ended in certain disaster. Then again, it would ruin the show. 

“Yes, they are,” Hunter insisted. “I’ve watched Mum make them a thousand times. You Americans are the one who make them weirdly.” She raised an eyebrow. “Although, they are tasty regardless,” he amended. 

“You have made them yourself before though...right?” She watched as he broke the eggs into the bowl and then added a seemingly random amount of milk. 

“Of course...once or twice.” He began to whisk the egg and milk together. After a few moments, he poured in some flour. It took him just over a minute of alternating adding flour and stirring the mixture before he seemed happy with the result. 

Bobbi smiled at how contented he was doing this small domestic act for her. Glancing at the time, she quickly pulled out her phone to text S.H.I.E.L.D., thinking up an excuse for why she would be late. 

A pipe burst in her apartment, that was always good. She sent it off with a slight flourish before returning her attention to her fiancé. They had only gotten back from Cartagena yesterday and it was the first day back in the apartment now that they were engaged. She didn’t want to rush out on him—especially as now she was interested to see if he really could make pancakes. And what said pancakes would be like, and whether they would burn down her apartment building. 

She watched curiously as he pulled out a frying pan and poured a little oil into it before placing it on the burner and turning on the stove. She had previously looked up British culture and foods when Hunter had started teasing her about her lack of knowledge, but this hadn’t been one of them. He obviously knew about both cultures, having grown up in England and spent a decent amount of time in America. His treatment of her lack of knowledge was, at times...aggravating. As if he knew what she had been thinking, he flashed a smile in her direction before adjusting the pan so that the oil slicked all the way across its surface. 

“Just waiting for it to heat up,” Hunter informed her. He checked it with a wave of his hand over the surface before pouring some of the mixture into the pan.

“You’re actually very sexy cooking topless,” Bobbi commented. “Definitely the best look for you.” 

Hunter turned around, placing his hands on either side of her hips as she sat on the counter. “Is that so?” He kissed her without giving her the chance to reply, not that she was complaining. This was definitely something she could get use to: breakfast made for her, a topless Hunter, kisses at all times of the day. She pulled him in closer, deepening the kiss, both of them getting lost in the moment until Hunter suddenly jerked away. He nearly ran back to the stove, the smell of burned pancake in the air, and flipped it over. It was completely black on one side. 

He looked at Bobbi sheepishly. “The first one is always a dud.”

Bobbi burst into laughter, Hunter looking offended for a moment before he succumbed as well. He shook his head, discarding the inedible pancake into the trash. “Take two,” he announced, pouring some more mixture into the pan. This time he gave it his full attention. 

Bobbi was both amused and pleasantly surprised when he managed to flip it over perfectly. “It’s a crêpe, not a pancake,” she realized. 

“It’s a pancake—you Americans just call them crêpes because you don’t know any better,” Hunter replied. 

She was about to give her retort—something about the British colonies revolting for a reason back in 1776—when her phone went off. It was enough of a distraction that Hunter’s next flip ended up half in the pan, half on the stove. So much for showing off.

Giving him an apologetic look, she exited the room to take the call, ending up just a few paces away in the hallway. Clint’s worried questioning mixed with the sound of Hunter cursing loudly in the kitchen, and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing while on the phone with her semi-annoyed partner. “No, everything’s fine. I’m on my way,” she told Clint.

Hunter gave her a small, understanding smile as she entered the kitchen again, knowing exactly what that call had meant. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean this up—and I’ll perfect my pancake-making skills too while you’re gone,” Hunter told her, pulling her in for a quick kiss. He stopped her feeble protest before she could even make it. “No, go, you’ll get in trouble,” he said with a laugh at her hesitation. 

Bobbi shook her head and ran into the bedroom, changing into her proper S.H.I.E.L.D. outfit in record time. She grabbed her bag and keys, taking one last glance at Hunter at the stove before rushing out the door. 

She was eternally grateful when the day turned out to be just meetings and watching Barton intimidate some lowlife from behind the two-way mirror in the interrogation room and not something that spiraled out into a multi-day mission. However, it also meant she had to keep her engagement ring on the entire day and couldn’t help but play with it under the desk as Fury talked and Sitwell’s report on the upcoming Project Triskelion droned on and on. 

“Just where do you think you’re going?” a voice stopped her just as she was about to clear the Atrium doors. She kept going, stopping outside with a hidden smile on her face as May and Hill caught up to her. She’d been hoping to hurry home to Hunter—but this was good as well. 

“What do you mean?” she asked innocently, turning to face them.

“You come back from Cartagena with a ring on your finger and you expect us not to want all the details?” Hill asked incredulously.

“Noticed that, did you?” Bobbi couldn’t help the broad grin that was overtaking her face.

“We’re elite secret agents, of course we noticed,” May replied, smacking her on the arm. “Now, do tell.”

“Was it romantic?” Maria questioned.

“Sweet?”

“Thoughtful?”

“Food-related?”

“Creative?”

“Guys!” Bobbi stopped them with a laugh. “...Yes, yes, yes, no, and yes. It was...Hunter.” 

“So I’m guessing alcohol was involved,” May surmised with a smirk.

“And a bed afterward,” Hill added.

“You guys are ridiculous,” Bobbi rolled her eyes. “Do you want me to tell you the story or not?”

“Yes, please,” Maria replied, closing her mouth and looking expectantly at Bobbi with a twinkle in her eyes. 

“Okay, so, Cartagena: our flight gets in at nine, and…”

* * *

 

She resisted the urge to run down the white-washed corridor, instead moving swiftly as she counted placards along the wall. Odds on the left: 215, 217, 219...221. She lunged for the door handle, twisting it open. Her eyes quickly took in the IV stand in the corner, the nurse with the clipboard, and her fiancé propped up in a hospital bed, awake and alert but looking decidedly worse for wear. “How is he?” she demanded of the nurse immediately.

“You’re family?” she asked.

“Fiancée. How is he?”

“Hey, Bob, over here,” Hunter told her from less than two feet away, beckoning to her with a tubed-and-taped hand. 

“Sorry,” she smiled weakly. “How are you, Lance?”

He grinned. “My injury is more impressive than yours.” He gestured toward her face and Bobbi immediately put a hand up to her cheek, only just now remembering the bruise there, a souvenir from the mission she’d just completed before receiving this call. 

“He’s stable, just a deep and nasty graze to the side that needed to be immobilized and stitched up,” the nurse provided. “He’ll be on top-tier antibiotics for a couple weeks though. I’ll leave you two alone now.” She exited the room. 

“You could’ve died if that bullet went an inch to the left; what were you doing?” Bobbi demanded, coming to the side of his bed.

“Just testing to see if I was bulletproof,” Hunter joked. “Turns out I’m not.” 

“Do you know who was shooting at you? Names, organization?” She paused. “Reason?”

“No, no, and because we were shooting back,” Hunter laughed, then discovered exactly how much pain erupted in his abdomen from that movement and stopped with a grimace. 

“Are they still out there? Have the proper authorities been contacted?”

“You’re going all Mockingbird on me, Bob,” he told her with a quirk of his lips. Her mouth opened in surprise, and she checked herself. 

“How do you know that name?” she asked, changing her tone to be light but sincere.

“I was looking over your shoulder while you were working with that last mission transcript,” he admitted with a sly smile. 

She gave him a glare to let him know exactly what she thought of his peeking at classified materials before sighing. “Sorry,” she admitted. “Habit. I’m not the person who stays with the injured until evac can arrive; I’m the one assessing the situation and taking out the bad guy.” She forced her turbulent emotions to bubble to the surface again—still under tight control, but at least visible—and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

“Me too.” She narrowed her eyes at his cheek, and he quickly switched gears. “What happened to you? You look awful,” he informed her. “Sit down.”

“Says the guy in the hospital bed,” she reminded him, nevertheless taking the seat beside him. “Guy hit me with a rock.” His un-IVed hand slipped into hers and she squeezed it lightly. “You should see the guy.”

“Is he buried?” Hunter asked casually. 

“Lying in a S.H.I.E.L.D. morgue with a Y cut in his chest,” she nodded. “But seriously, what about the people who shot you?”

“You tell me who gave you that bruise, I’ll tell you about my op,” Hunter said. The triumphant look in his eyes told her that he knew she’d never tell. 

“A dead guy, your turn,” Bobbi replied blandly. 

“Same. Mike didn’t take my shooting very well and beat the crap out of them—we won’t be having any problem with them in the future,” he assured her, tapping the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’m fine, Bob, really. They say I can leave today even.”

She stayed with him for the remainder of his stay, and Hunter hadn't lied—he was let out a few hours later. Bobbi dropped him off at home and made sure he was comfortable in bed before quickly going out to buy supplies. The doctor’s orders had fortunately been given while she was in the room, and she had every intention of making sure Hunter followed his first week of bedrest to the letter.

On the third day Bobbi relented slightly and allowed Hunter to move from the bedroom to the lounge and stay on the sofa so that he could watch TV on a big screen while she was at work, tired of hearing him complain of his utter and complete boredom. She had replied that he shouldn’t have gone and gotten himself shot, which shut him up quite nicely...for about five minutes. Thus the move. 

On the fourth morning, Bobbi checked her watch and discovered that she was on time, not running behind schedule for once. She pulled a tea bag out of the box in the cupboard and brewed it according to the instructions on the package. She took the cup to Hunter, who winced from his seat on the couch when he reached up to take it from her—he didn’t exactly have the pain threshold of a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, she thought. 

He smiled gratefully, taking a sip of the hot liquid. He immediately spat it back out. “What is this?”

“It’s tea,” Bobbi said, confusion and irritation present on her face at his action and tone. 

“That is  _ not  _ tea,” Hunter replied, handing it back to her with a look of disgust on his face. 

“Yes, it is,” she insisted, looking down at it. 

“In that case…you really suck at making tea,” Hunter informed her. 

“If you weren’t injured I would kick your ass out of the window,” Bobbi said, but with no real venom behind it. 

“In that case, I’m glad I was shot,” he joked, although Bobbi didn’t find it all that funny. “I’m sorry...if it makes you feel better, I don’t actually like tea. I may be British, but it’s really...not my cup of tea.” She rolled her eyes at his failed attempt at humorous wordplay and returned to the kitchen, sniffing the brown liquid before pouring it into a travel mug for herself. His loss, her gain. 

“I’m going to work,” she told him, going back into the living room for a quick goodbye. “Don’t die while I’m gone.” She leaned down to plant a kiss on his forehead. 

“What? No real kiss?” Hunter whined. 

"Oh, you think you deserve one?" Bobbi teased. "Complaining about my tea. It's not just the British who drink it you know!" She leaned down again to give him a proper kiss this time before heading for the door. "Don't forget your antibiotics at noon and five if I'm not home by then."

"I won't, can't have any super bacteria running rampant because of me," he promised. She smiled and opened the door. "And only the British make it right!" he called after her. Bobbi rolled her eyes, still smiling as she walked swiftly down the stairs and got in her car. She laughed to herself as she considered that she was sure Hunter was up off the couch by now, disregarding every order to stay down and rest. He just liked the attention. But, if he went into the kitchen, he would soon discover the various kinds of British foods she'd researched and bought for him—something that even in the capital required a great deal of effort. Hopefully he would know how to cook some of that stuff, as she certainly didn't. 

When she arrived at the Atrium, the place was swarming with people. Not people in suits, the you're-getting-a-surprise-audit-from-some-paranoid-government-or-another type, but commanders barking out orders, specialists in uniform gearing up, and people everywhere loading up supplies in the forms of crates and boxes. "What's going on?" Bobbi burst into Hill’s office. 

"We've got an 0-8-4 situation," her friend replied. 

"Okay, so since when does that mean a mobilization of fifty agents? And supplies?”

“Since now,” Hill told her grimly, swiping her phone off the desk. She paused just long enough to give instructions before disappearing into the swarm of activity. “Suit up, Agent Morse.”

Bobbi entered the apartment at exactly 4:55, apologies stockpiled like Clint packed arrows for a three-day mission. “Well, you made it before five,” Hunter greeted her drily from the couch. “ _ Two days late _ , but before five!”

“Lance, I’m sorry,” Bobbi began tiredly. 

He shook his head. “I didn’t hear a peep from you for two whole days! And if I’d known you weren’t coming back, I would have contacted one of my mates to come help, because do you know how hard it is to change your own dressing? Not to mention I was worried sick about you...and stuck here! What happened?” he demanded. He took a deep breath. “And this time, I need more than ‘It’s classified.’”

She stared at him for a moment. “There was a...a situation. It was all hands on deck; the last couple days have been crazy…”

“Too crazy for you to give me a call? Send me a text?”

She looked at him helplessly. “Lance…”

“Before bed, even,” Hunter continued. “Or are you telling me you didn’t—”

“I haven’t slept in over fifty-six hours,” Bobbi admitted, sitting down beside him on the couch. She took it as a good sign that he moved his blanket over a little so that she could. 

“You should get some sleep, you look like crap,” Hunter replied curtly. 

She gave a slight nod. “I will, but I wanted to apologize to you first. Lance, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m learning quickly that your job comes first, Bob. Let’s just drop it, I don’t care anyway,” Hunter said with a lack of emotion in his voice, not looking at her. 

“Hunter, don’t do that,” Bobbi said sharply, waiting for him to meet her eyes again before continuing. “Yes, my job is important to me, but so are you. Had I known I was going to get sucked into a situation like that I never would have gone in.”

“We both know that is not true; you just said it was all hands on deck, meaning it must have been something important,” Hunter replied. She opened her mouth to object but he went on before she could. “Even I know I don’t come above protecting multiple people. You apologized. Will it happen again? Probably. Is there anything I can do about it? No.” He sighed. “I just want us to spend what time we actually do have together before you off again jumping off rooftops and blowing up criminals.” Hunter paused, then looked up at her again with a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Also, I need you to help me have a bath; I stink.”

“Yes, you do,” she smiled. Bobbi placed a hand gently on his chest to stall him as he made to get up from the couch. “Lance, are we good?”

Hunter thought for a long moment, seriously considering her question before he nodded. “It was only two days, not that bad.” He smiled slightly. “Remember before I moved in here, there was that one time when I couldn’t get in touch with you for nearly a month; I had actually thought you died.” He laughed, stopping quickly with a grimace as he put one hand lightly over his wound. “Ow. But I spent four weeks wondering if you were still keeping us a secret from S.H.I.E.L.D...whether if something actually happened, they would tell me.”

Bobbi offered him a hand up. “May and Coulson and Maria have always known about you.” She pulled him to his feet. “But yes, S.H.I.E.L.D. knows. You’re first listed on my emergency contact list.”

He looked at her, surprised. “Even above your parents?”

Smiling, she nodded. “Now, you don’t even want to know the magnitude of the background check it took to  _ put  _ you there…” They walked out of the living room together towards their bedroom. 

“Wait, you didn’t  _ read  _ the thing, did you?” Hunter questioned suddenly. 

She looked back at him with a smirk. “That’s classified.”

“Hey! You didn’t, did you? No, you couldn’t have… You’d have killed me already for—” She raised an eyebrow. “—nothing. You know, I should do a background check on you too, just to be safe.”

Bobbi laughed. “You try, Hunter. You go ahead and try. It’ll come back with me as a having a degree in biology—”

“You do have a degree in biology.”

“—and working as a detective for the MPD,” she finished.

“If you say so,  Barbara Anne Morse,” Hunter replied cheekily. He swiftly moved past her and toward the bedroom.

“Wait, you haven’t—you can’t—how the hell do you know my middle name?” Bobbi demanded, staring after him. 

Even injured, Lance Hunter could move fast when he wanted to. 


	11. Operation: S.K.Y.-D.I.V.I.N.G.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Turn" Part II

Bobbi entered the apartment with a contented sigh. It was good to be home. Not that her four-day-long mission had been particularly exhausting—Barton had done most of the grunt work, really; she had just had to bat her eyelashes a few times and spit out a few lines of Spanish—but it was still nice to be back. She kicked off her shoes before walking into the living room to find Hunter going through the guns and sorting them into strange piles. “What are you doing?” she asked with a hint of curiosity and confusion. 

“Sorting out the guns. Now that we're getting married, I should know what weapons are in the household. Also, I discovered one in your underwear drawer.”

“Who said you could rifle through my underwear drawer?” Bobbi demanded, her eyes widening. 

Hunter laughed. “I shouldn’t have said that—I was just…” 

“You are so dead,” Bobbi replied, shaking her head with amusement as she walked over to him, looking over his shoulder at how he was organizing the guns. “How come the Baikal-411 is in the same pile as a Fort-12B?”  

“They're both semi-automatic pistols,” Hunter replied with a small shrug as he placed one of the guns down and smirked. “So, how many men did you sleep with to get the intel this time?” 

“Five or six, the usual,” Bobbi teased back, rolling her eyes at his antics. 

“Were any as good as me?” Hunter asked, cracking a smile. 

“No, actually," Bobbi said, enjoying the way his grin widened before adding, "They were better. You have some competition...looks like you’ll have to work harder.” She laughed as her hands migrated from over his shoulders down his chest from behind. 

“Now I know you’re lying, 'cause I’m the best,” he said, turning his head to look at her with a confident smile. 

“If that’s what you believe, I’ll go with it,” Bobbi replied as their lips met. 

So good to be home.

* * *

 

“Hunter!” Bobbi called, irritation in her voice. 

Hunter popped his head into the bathroom. “Last name—this can’t be good."

“I have told you a thousand times, you need to squeeze from the end of the tube, not the middle!” Bobbi said, throwing the toothpaste into the sink in annoyance. 

“It’s just toothpaste—” Hunter’s eyes widened as she glared at him. “I didn’t—”

“Just toothpaste— _just_ _toothpaste_? Is this how it’s going to go, I ask you to do something and you don’t or you completely ignore me? What’s next? Are you going to expect me to clean up after you? Do laundry every week and…” 

Hunter rested his hands on her hips. “Bobbi, calm down. I will squeeze whatever you want me to, whenever you want me to, however you want me to," he said, throwing in a suggestive hint. "Okay? I’m sorry."

Bobbi rolled her eyes. “I’m serious here.”

Hunter nodded placatingly. "But Bob—you do realize that I am the one who does more than half the dishes and the laundry, right?"

"Only because you are incapable of doing most of the cooking," Bobbi replied with a hint of a smile. "And because it's mostly your laundry. A lot of what I wear just has to be returned to S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Still—the other week I caught you buying new clothes and plates because you didn't want to have to do them," he reminded her. "Is that what you used to do before I came along? Because that counts as neither doing the laundry nor washing the dishes, Bob."

"Only occasionally! When I'm extra busy," Bobbi said, knowing he had her there. "But I was perfectly capable living on my own, you know."

Hunter only gave her a knowing look. "I'm sure..."

* * *

 

Hunter was sprawled out on his back, his arm wrapped securely around Bobbi, who was on her side with her head on his shoulder. “No, it either has to be in America or England—otherwise  _ everybody _ will have to fly out, and that is just a hassle,” he emphasized. 

Bobbi nodded. “You’re right," she said, her voice tinged with a bit of surprise that she hadn’t thought about that little difficulty. And also that, due to it being a binational marriage, at the very least either his family or hers would have to fly overseas to the location. Perhaps being with S.H.I.E.L.D. for so long and having fighter planes and mobile-command-jets at her disposal had desensitized her from the normal civilian tribulations of traveling long distances. 

“No need to sound so surprised, I can think reasonably,” Hunter informed her with a chuckle, his thumb tracing circles on her back. 

“Did you want to get married in a church?” Bobbi asked. 

Hunter's lips quirked into a smile. "In a church, that’s a bit too normal for us.” He yelped slightly when she kneed him. “Sorry—I’d rather not get married in a place that reminds me of those I've killed on what should be the happiest day of my life.”

Bobbi nodded, straining herself to think of an appropriate location for their wedding. Hunter's mum—and hers to tell the truth—had already started fretting that they were taking too long to plan this thing out. “You think of something; you’re just saying no to all of my suggestions," Bobbi told him, taking the pressure off her for a few minutes.  

“We could get married at a zoo? We both like animals.”

Bobbi scrunched her nose as she looked up at him. “No, not even a remote possibility.”

“Right then—if you're not up for land animals, what about in an aquarium?”

“Hunter, be serious,” Bobbi said, shaking her head in amusement and holding back a laugh at his suggestion. "How would that even work...? Actually, I don’t want to know!”

Hunter smirked. "It could work...you're just not adventurous enough. We could do it during one of your missions?  _ Do you, Bobbi, take Hunter to be your wife! _ Bang bang, I do!”

“Wife? To be my wife?” Bobbi questioned, laughing hysterically at him getting the words muddled up. Hunter began laughing too at his mistake. She eventually calmed down, tightening her grip around him as she kissed his shoulder. “You’re an idiot.”

"So I've been told." 

She moved away again, stretching and yawning. "We should get up, have breakfast. Maybe some food'll restore some brain cells and help us come up with some..." She eyed him. "... _ appropriate _ ideas." 

"But I like lying in bed with you!" Hunter gave a mock whine. She threw a random set of his clothes at him and he sighed, pulling himself into a sitting position and reaching for his phone. "If I have another voice message from my mum again asking if we've set a date yet..."

"Does your mum have any specific expectations for this thing?" Bobbi asked curiously as she pulled on her clothes. 

"Does any mum not?" Hunter replied, raising an eyebrow. "First thing that comes to mind is inviting everybody—the whole family. Including the close family friends that she considers family. Mum doesn't believe in small weddings. Her motto is 'Do it big, or don't do it at all!'"

"Umm...how many people is that?" Bobbi questioned. 

"Let's see...not including small children...my two sisters and their husbands, Mum herself, my Uncle Larry who likes to get drunk at parties, her elderly neighbor Mrs. Schaeffer who likes to talk to cats, Mr. and Mrs. Benzo whose son dated Kaydee for a few months of upper school, Carrie, Laurie, and Kenzie from Playgroup..."

"So basically the whole of England," Bobbi laughed. 

"Pretty much," Hunter sighed. "She also has been collecting pictures for the last three years to put in a slideshow to have playing during the reception, and she has her heart set on us having a band because she has this image in her head of us dancing to a unique version of Sinatra."

"That's not good," Bobbi said. “My mom's always been against live bands; she claims they ruin what were perfectly good songs in their original form. She's told me since I was four the only way to go is a DJ."

"That's okay, I was going to ignore that last one anyway," Hunter shrugged, walking out with her into the kitchen. "I don't dance, so..."

"I know," Bobbi smiled. "My mother will kill me if the wedding's not at least officiated by a priest, so we can put that down on our list."

"Sounds fine," Hunter agreed. "Tradition in my family has been to use this tiny little bakery based in London for the cake, so maybe we should do the wedding in England."

"Funny, I was just about to say the exact same thing about America," Bobbi laughed. "There's this restaurant that she's been hinting to me for ages that she says would be perfect to cater the event." She sighed. "Maybe we should just start from scratch—this is crazy."

"Yeah, I'm thinking we'll go mad if we keep trying to please the two," Hunter agreed. He pulled out the mix as she plugged in the waffle iron. "Hey, what if we just went to Las Vegas? That could satisfy your mother's requirement of a priest while avoiding the music, catering, cake,  _ and _ slideshow dilemma."

"Except my dad told me very clearly that he would disown me if I ever got married in Vegas," Bobbi informed him. 

"Hmm, okay," he mused as she handed him a bowl of batter to stir while she began chopping strawberries into small sections. "I'm still liking my aquarium idea."

"No." 

"But that would really make it official!" Hunter protested. "Get it, o-FISH-al?"

Bobbi sighed. "Please tell me you only came up with that after you said it; you didn't do it on porpoise?" She tried to keep a straight face but couldn't help but crack a smile. 

"Ha! See, you think it's a good idea," Hunter exclaimed. "I know you wouldn't be so shellfish as to deny me a wedding full of fish puns."

"Sorry, I guess I am that... _ shellfish _ ," Bobbi said. "It's still a no."

"You mean it's krill a no?"

"Hunter..." She flicked a bit of strawberry juice off her fingers at him. 

"Fine, fine," Hunter said, face growing pensive again. "At the top of Mt. Everest! I bet no one's done that before."

"Because we'd keel over from oxygen deprivation halfway through the ceremony and die of hypothermia on the way up," Bobbi rolled her eyes. 

“Franny’s Saloon?”

“All bars are off-limits, Hunter.”

"African safari!"

"No."

"Zip-lining."

"No."

"Top of Half Dome?"

"No."

"At the foot of the Sphinx."

"No."

"The Winchester Mystery House."

"Nowhere haunted."

"Top of the Empire State Building?"

"I'm not sure they allow that kind of thing."

"You're S.H.I.E.L.D., you could get us in," Hunter replied eagerly. 

"No."

"The place they filmed the scenes with Yoda in  _ Star Wars: Episode V _ ?"

Bobbi allowed herself to pause, watching his face slowly light up. "No."

"We could get married while sky-diving?"

"If you keep suggesting things like that, I will throw you out of a plane."

"Is that a no?" Hunter asked. "Or a yes… Because technically, if we did sky-dive, you  _ could _ throw me…"

She glared at him. 

"Right… no to sky-diving," he nodded. "Disneyworld? Hey, then we could have the wedding in Britain and America at the same time! You know, hold it in the UK part of the park..."

"And then move from Epcot to Animal Kingdom for the safari and then to Magic Kingdom for Star Tours," Bobbi mused with a laugh. "Well, that really does have everything, doesn't it? But still no—I don't think I could go back and face the people at work after having gotten married in Disneyworld."

"There's nothing to be ashamed of about Disneyworld!"

"I love Disney as much as anyone, but I do have shreds of a reputation to uphold, Lance," she replied with a smile. 

"As a badass hellbeast with staves?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Fine," Hunter grumbled. He opened his mouth as if to say something and then closed it again. "I'm out of ideas."

"Me too."

"So, I call my mum later and report progress that we just don't want to reveal to her yet?" he checked. 

"Sounds like a plan."

Bobbi awoke to the shaking of the bed, flying upwards into an alert sitting position. Then she realized that the shaking was caused by the man sleeping beside her. Hunter’s hands were clenched into fists at his sides, and he was rocking back and forth, straining against invisible bonds. His eyes wandered beneath his eyelids, darting back and forth. “Hunter,” Bobbi whispered, placing a hand on his chest. “Lance.”

“Mmph!” His eyes shot open. 

“Lance, it’s okay,” she whispered, stilling his flailing arms into his chest. “You’re home. You’re safe.” It took a minute or so for his breathing to slow, but his hand found hers and he squeezed her hand. 

“Thanks,” he said finally, shifting to kiss the top of her head. 

“You’re welcome,” she replied softly. 

* * *

 

Bobbi ran the cylindrical brush through her damp curls, the drone of the hair dryer next to her ear drowning out all other noise. When she was finished, she clicked it off and set the hair dryer down, heading out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Having already donned a pair of jeans, she was halfway through pulling on a comfy shirt when she heard a noise. She frowned at the sound of quick, light footsteps somewhere outside her bedroom door, absentmindedly tugging the hem of the shirt down to the appropriate length as she listened.

Hunter didn’t walk like that. And no one else was supposed to be in her apartment. 

Bobbi crossed to the nightstand, opening the drawer and picking up the gun nestled within. For better or for worse, her staves were still out in the kitchen with her bag. She pressed herself against the wall and opened the door slowly, weapon held out in front of her. A flash of movement caught her eye, disappearing around the corner and into the kitchen. She followed, hugging the wall with adrenaline surging through her veins. She stopped at the corner, taking a deep breath before bursting into the kitchen, gun raised and ready to fire. 

Two feet were visible under her refrigerator door...two  _ small  _ feet. There were rifling sounds coming from the other side, and the oval of light cast forward by the open fridge created the shadow of a small boy across the ground. Bobbi lowered the gun, confused.

Suddenly a second little boy jumped out from behind her. “BOO! BANG! AHHH!!!” he shouted, running off down the hall and into her bedroom, the door swinging wildly on its hinges behind him. Only the entirety of her S.H.I.E.L.D. training kept the gun in her hands from going off right then and there. 

“What the hell…” Bobbi hissed. The refrigerator door closed and the boy spotted her. His mouth fell open in an “O” and he took off for the living room. Muttering a few more choice swear words under her breath, she ejected the clip from the gun as well as the bullet in the barrel and stuffed all three into a nearby drawer with the spatulas and wooden spoons. 

Then she took off after the kid, skidding to a halt as she reached Hunter at the door, standing and talking to a woman who looked vaguely familiar. The boy dodged through his mother’s legs and took refuge behind her. He stuck out his tongue at Bobbi. 

“You can’t do this!” Hunter was protesting, annoyed. 

“Too bad, Lance,” the woman replied, grabbing her kid by the neck of the shirt to make sure he wouldn’t go running off again—much like a mother cat grabbing a kitten by the scruff of their neck—and gently hauled him back inside. “You’re the only person I can think of; it won’t be long.”

“What’s going on?” Bobbi asked.

The woman looked at her and smiled. “You must be Bobbi, I’m Kaydee. Thanks for offering to take care of the twins,” she said innocently. 

Bobbi turned to Hunter. “Babysitting?” she questioned, the tone of her voice conveying exactly what she thought of that idea. 

“We’re not babysitting,” Hunter stated firmly. 

Kaydee bent down. “Patrick, where’s Michael?” she asked the boy. 

He pointed towards the interior of Bobbi’s apartment. “Over there!” 

“Okay, I’ll give you an extra kiss for him too,” she replied, pecking him twice on the top of the head. “Have fun with Uncle Lance! Be good!” 

Bobbi could have sworn again. Why did “Be good!” sound like an afterthought?

“I owe you one, Lance; nice meeting you, Bobbi,” she said all in one breath before literally running off. 

Hunter followed her, leaving Bobbi with the boy. “KAYDEE! YOU CAN’T JUST LEAVE THEM HERE!” 

The kid took off with what Bobbi would later swear was a cackle, heading straight for the freezer. “Hunter?” Bobbi asked. He reappeared a moment later, shutting the door behind him with a scowl. “Three sentences, Hunter: who was that woman, who are those two boys, and what are they doing here?”

“Umm… That was my older sister Kaydee. Those are her twins boys. And they’re here because they were taking a family vacation to D.C. and Kaydee discovered that theWashingtonMonumentandLincolnMemorialdon’treallyinterestsix-year-oldsallthatmuch.”

Bobbi rolled her eyes. “I said three sentences, not all in one breath.”

“Leave the ice cream alone!” Hunter shouted, dodging around her to run into the kitchen and scoop the container out of the boy’s arms. The lid was already on the ground and the kid's hands were a sticky mess. 

“Hey, what are these?” the other twin asked, holding up Bobbi’s staves. He struck a pose. “Do you sword fight with them?” He bashed the two ends together and Bobbi lunged towards him, snatching them out of his hands before he could electrocute himself—or her, for that matter. The caps for the two staves fell to the floor, but Bobbi managed to keep from touching the dangerous end. “Hey!” the boy pouted.

“Not a toy,” she told him, picking up the fused cap, detaching the two parts, and returning them to the ends of her staves. There was a crash behind her, and she spun around just in time to see a flurry of papers fly up into the air off the table as the other boy—Patrick—whizzed by, accidentally running into the table leg. Classified documents of all kinds floated to the floor. 

“Hunter!” she shouted in warning. 

“Right, um...Patrick! Michael!” he called. “You wanna play a game with us?”

“Sure,” Michael said, racing away from Bobbi and skidding to a halt at Hunter’s feet. 

“What kind of game?” Patrick asked, poking his head in from the doorway. 

“Hide-and-seek,” Hunter replied. Bobbi looked at him questioningly, but he just shook his head at her. 

“I like hide-and-seek!” Patrick said. 

“Okay, good. You both count first, and we’ll hide,” Hunter told him. 

“Why do we both have to count?” Michael asked, crossing his arms. 

“That’s not how you play the game,” Patrick added.

“It’s a special version of the game,” Hunter told him. “Just go sit on the couch and close your eyes.”

“Okay!” they said, running over and plopping down. 

“What should we count to?” Michael asked, eyes squeezed shut. 

“One hundred,” Hunter told him. He motioned for Bobbi to come closer. “We hide everything valuable or dangerous or breakable while they have their eyes closed,” he hissed. “The closet locks from the outside, right?”

“One, two, three…” the boys began.

“Of course it doesn’t,” Bobbi whispered back. “That’d be a safety hazard. But the bathroom in the bedroom has that funky door handle thing…”

“Right,” Hunter nodded. They both sped apart, heading for different objects in the room.

“Eight, nine, ten…”

Hunter tossed his mission bag into the bedroom and collected a spare pistol from on top of the fridge before stashing them in the shower.

“Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…”

She ran to pick up all of her S.H.I.E.L.D. files, stuffing them under her arm as she hurried into the bathroom to place them in a haphazard pile on the edge of the sink. One fluttered down into the toilet bowl, and she treated that particular water-logged sheet as a lost cause. 

“Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three…”

Hunter slid to a halt next to the hall closet, rummaging through it until he came up with a spare case of grenades. He hid it in the shower as well.

“Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, fifty…”

Bobbi grabbed the gun and clip from the spatula drawer and approached the twins carefully. She was quiet as she reached down under the couch they were sitting on and fished out the compromised-survival kit. Those also went in the bathroom.

“Sixty-five, sixty-six, sixty-seven…”

“I’m bored; are you hidden yet?” one of the twins demanded. 

“Not yet; keep counting!” Hunter replied. 

Patrick sighed. “Sixty-eight, sixty-nine…” 

Her fiancé seemed to have an epiphany as he stopped in the middle of the hallway, rotated on his heels, and ran back towards the kitchen. He opened up one of the cupboards and began taking out bottles of alcohol. With those and the remains of a half-finished six-pack from the fridge, he scuttled toward the bedroom. 

“Eighty-one, eighty-three, eighty-four…”

Bobbi hid the extra bow and quiver in her closet, there on the off-chance Clint ever got holed up in her apartment. 

“Eighty-nine, ninety, ninety-one…”

Hunter went for the laptops next, tucking them under one arm as he hurried back to the bedroom.

“Ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight…” 

At the last second she remembered the knife set hidden on the bottom of the table right in front of the couch and ran for it. 

“Ninety-nine, one hundred!” they shouted triumphantly. They opened their eyes to find her frozen guiltily not a yard away. “Found you!”

“That’s not a very good hiding place,” Michael informed her as she hid the knives behind her back. “You were  _ super  _ easy to find.”

“Yes, well, your Uncle Lance is much better at this game than I am,” she told them. 

Hunter came jogging in. “Bob, I think we got it a—” His gaze fell on the boys. “Oh, are you done counting already?”

“Found you!” Patrick exclaimed. They burst out laughing. 

“Why don’t you two go hide, and we’ll count?” Bobbi suggested breathlessly. The boys took off in either direction, dodging around the two of them. Hunter and Bobbi collapsed on the couch. 

“Is it a bad thing that I’m so winded right now?” Hunter asked. 

“You’re not counting!” one of the boys called indignantly. 

“One, two, three…” Bobbi said loudly. “It’s surprise six-year-olds; I think we get a free pass. Four, five, six!”


	12. Operation: W.E.D.D.I.N.G.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Turn" Part III

The day came with alarming speed, finding Bobbi, her mother, May, and Hill sequestered in one room, Hunter and his SAS buddies in another, and Coulson helping to make sure everything was ready in the large backyard. Hunter's mother was fluttering around somewhere outside as well, with his sisters laughing and trying to rein her in. Hill had volunteered this place for their use, an old S.H.I.E.L.D. safehouse that hadn't been used in ages but was still kept in good condition. Besides the occasional handgun they found under one of the beds, Bobbi thought the place was perfect for their small wedding.

"I'm so proud of you," her mother told her, eyes shining. She turned to May and Hill, who were unwrapping the dress while Bobbi waited in fewer clothes than she generally liked wearing when in groups of three or more. "Are you all good here?"

"Yeah, we're fine," Hill replied, finally managing to free the top part of the dress from the bag without ripping any of the tiny stitches.

"All right, I'm going to go join your father then," she told Bobbi. "Have to make sure he's not hiding at the side of the house weeping his eyes out or anything." She winked, and Bobbi laughed. "I'll see you out there, Barbara."

"See you, Mom," Bobbi smiled, heart fluttering in her chest. This was it. Her wedding day.

May and Hill walked over sporting the dress between them and allowed Bobbi to step into it. Then they began pulling it up her body, the silky material sliding up her bare legs. It tickled.

She was a specialist. Things weren't supposed to tickle. But it did.

"Hold still," May told her. "Stop fidgeting!"

"Sorry," Bobbi said, not sorry at all.

"Are you nervous?" Hill asked incredulously. "Bobbi Morse, nervous? Never thought I'd see the day."

May's lips curved upwards into a smile. "Hunter's really done a number on you, hasn't he?"

"I think that's obvious; I'm marrying the idiot," Bobbi growled.

"Okay, when I told you to call him a year ago, I never expected to see it go this far," Hill said.

"One night stand, maybe, but marriage?"

"Shut up," Bobbi rolled her eyes. May zipped up the back of her dress, causing a slight constriction over her chest. "Thanks," she said, turning around.

"Wait, I haven't done the bow yet," May admonished, spinning her back.

Bobbi sighed as her bridesmaid yanked the cloth together. "Corset much?" Finally she turned around for real, coming face to face with the full length mirror leaning against the wall. The sight of herself took her breath away, and for a moment she just stood there, star-struck. This was...this was amazing and scary and exhilarating and so, so terrifying all at the same time. Her dress was simple and elegant—Hill had suggested something poufy and frilly but Bobbi had put an end to that idea quickly—but seemed perfect for the small, intimate wedding they'd planned. Silver lace was woven intricately around the top, leaving her shoulders bare.

"Okay, Cinderella, stop staring; we still have hair and makeup to do," Hill snickered. Bobbi waited patiently until the two women were finished. "I still can't believe Hunter nixed the dancing," Maria complained.

"He doesn't dance," Bobbi shrugged. She laughed. "He made that very clear."

"Okay, you're ready," May smiled.

"I'll go check on Hunter and the rest of the preparations," Hill said.

"No, I can do it," Bobbi protested.

"And risk him seeing you?"

"I don't care about those old superstitions—"

"You're not going anywhere," May said, punctuating her words with her patented warning glare. "Go, Maria."

Hill laughed and exited the room. A few seconds later there was a knock on the door and Coulson poked his head inside. "Ready, Bobbi?"

She took a deep, excited breath. "I think so."

"Well, you look a bit less green than Hunter, so you're fine," he grinned. "I'll tell him to get to the altar then."

"Wait, altar?" Bobbi asked. Coulson winked and closed the door behind him.

"I'd better get out there too, then," May told her. "When you hear the music..." Her friend picked up the large bouquet of flowers from the dresser, fluffing them before handing them to her.

"I know." Bobbi took them carefully. She had originally said no pink at this wedding, but now she had to admit that Hill had been right—it went better with her golden hair than blue would have.

May gave her a swift hug, which Bobbi gratefully returned. Left alone, she looked in the mirror once more. This was it. Her wedding day. The words repeated like a mantra in her head.

Outside, she heard the music begin to play and a huge smile split her face even as her heartbeat surged in her chest. She opened the door, walking slowly through the house towards the backyard. Three rows of white lawn chairs had been set up on either side of the aisle and the aisle itself had a small dusting of pink petals. Her father, tear-free by the looks of it, waited by the sliding glass door, beaming. He opened it for her and offered her his arm, which she took. They were treading on petals now, over the soft grass. In the chairs she could see Coulson, her mom, Hunter's mum, and his sisters. Her mother clutched a handkerchief and Coulson gave her a small nod and a smile as she passed.

At the end of the aisle was a man dressed in white standing in front of a glass table. Next to him on the left were May and Hill, and on the right Hunter's friends from Britain. And then there was him. Dressed in a dark suit, fully equipped with his cheeky smile. Their eyes met from fifteen feet away, and joy flooded her, heart skipping a beat again. She could barely turn to accept the kiss her father placed on her brow. Then he shook hands with Hunter and took a seat next to her mother.

"You look beautiful," Lance murmured in her ear.

"You clean up pretty well yourself," she whispered back, nerves dissipating. They both grinned and turned to face the priest. Just then Bobbi glanced down at the 'altar' in front of them to see the S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia etched into the glass. Somehow, she knew that was Hunter's doing—his way of saying he'd try not to interfere with her work, though he couldn't exactly put it into his vows. Not in front of their families or his SAS friends, for whom S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't exist.

"Family and friends of the bride and groom, we are gathered here today to witness the marriage of Barbara Elaine Morse and Lance Jonathan Hunter." Bobbi startled.

"You told me your middle name was Marie!" she hissed into his ear.

"I recall no such thing," her fiancé whispered back, but his grin told her all she needed to know. That there was more of a story behind that to wheedle out of him later. That the story would be even juicier than a middle name of Marie.

"You'll pay for that later," she promised. From the side May frowned at her, lifting a finger to her lips in warning. Their small spat subsided.

"You are their friends, family, and coworkers," the priest continued, "and it means the world to them that you are here to witness this ceremony." He looked at Bobbi and Hunter. "We come now to the words that the bride and groom want to hear most today: those that will carry them across the threshold from being engaged to being married." Lance's hand found hers and he gave it a light squeeze. Her smile widened. "Please face each other," the priest directed. "Barbara Morse, do you take Lance Hunter to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

She looked right into his dark brown eyes as she said it. "I do."

"Then please, repeat after me: I..."

"I, Bobbi Morse…"

"...take you, Lance Hunter, to be my husband."

"...take you, Lance Hunter, to be my husband."

"I will share my life with yours, support you in times of trouble, and rejoice with you in times of happiness…"

"I will share my life with yours, support you in times of trouble, and rejoice with you in times of happiness…"

"...so that we can build our dreams together. I promise to give you the love, respect, and loyalty that you deserve through every triumph and every hurdle life throws at us."

"...so that we can build our dreams together. I promise to give you the love, respect, and loyalty that you deserve through every triumph and every hurdle life throws at us." Bobbi paused, her grin becoming more mischievous. "I promise not to hit you _too_ hard when we fight, and not to see the new Star Wars movies without you." She could _feel_ May rolling her eyes from behind her.

The priest turned to Hunter. "Lance Hunter, do you take Barbara Morse to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

Lance gazed at her with something akin to adoration, although a cheekiness remained in his eyes.

"Then please, repeat after me: I..."

"I…" Everyone waited.

"Lance Hunter," the priest prompted. May glowered at the soon-to-be husband, but Bobbi could hardly keep from laughing out loud at his antics.

"Lance Hunter," he repeated finally.

"...take you, Barbara Morse, to be my wife..."

"...take you, Bobbi, to be my wife..." By now the priest was just going with it, Bobbi could see.

"...I will share my life with yours, support you in times of trouble, and rejoice with you in times of happiness…"

"...I will share my life with yours, support you in times of trouble, and rejoice with you in times of happiness…"

"...so that we can build our dreams together. I promise to give you the love, respect, and loyalty that you deserve through every triumph and every hurdle life throws at us."

"...so that we can build our dreams together. I promise to give you the love, respect, and loyalty that you deserve through every triumph and every hurdle life throws at us." Lance smiled. "I promise to try to be less of a slob around the house, and to squash the spiders so that you don't have to." Her eyes bulged at him—he wasn't supposed to say that out loud, in front of everyone! May's normal stoic face had its eyebrows near the hairline and Coulson was struggling not to laugh. Hill looked like Christmas had come early, and Bobbi knew that little tidbit of information would come back to bite her later.

"Please exchange rings," the priest said. Bobbi turned to May even as Hunter turned to Max, his friend from the SAS in full dress uniform. May slipped the gold band into her hand, tapping out a brief message in morse code onto her palm before letting go. _Proud of you._

Bobbi turned back to Hunter. "I love you, Lance," she told him quietly, slipping the band onto his third finger.

"I love you, Bob," he replied, threading the second half of her engagement ring onto her own.

"By the power vested in me by the District of Columbia, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride," finished the priest. And Lance did.

When they broke apart—both a little breathless, although they'd never admit it—they were swarmed with the congratulations of those around them. As was her duties as the bridesmaid in this somewhat nontraditional affair, May threw open the sliding door all the way to allow everyone access to the food that had mysteriously found its way to the tables. People began milling around, getting into small groups to talk, or just socializing with their neighbors in general. Hunter took her arm into the crook of his, still grinning broadly.

Her father approached them first, with Bobbi's mother right beside him. "I guess it's too late to warn you to be careful with my daughter," her father said, giving Hunter a mock stern look.

Hunter was thrown off-kilter for a moment, rare for him. "Ye—yes, sir, but I think you covered it pretty well when I asked for permission to marry her..."

"Nothing wrong with a refresher course," her dad replied easily. Bobbi laughed, hitting her father lightly on the arm.

"Don't give him too hard of a time, Dad."

His eyes twinkled at her, and he gave Hunter a giant clap on the arm. "You're a good guy, Lance. Although I won't say her propensity to call you by your last name even when you were engaged wasn't a bit worrisome," he chuckled. "But you make her laugh, and that's a good thing."

"And roll my eyes. And scoff. And stick out my tongue," Bobbi added. Her mother, seeming unable to speak at the moment, merely squeezed her hand before leading her husband off to snag some food.

"Mum!" Hunter exclaimed. "Kaydee, Monica!"

His sisters Kaydee and Monica seemed to descend upon them like one, each of them embracing Hunter and Bobbi tightly. "Can't believe you actually did it!" Monica squealed as she released him.

"If he gets out of line, give me a call—I have thousands of embarrassing stories about him in my arsenal," Kaydee said. "They're now at your disposal. Welcome to the family!" She laughed, letting go of Bobbi. The two sisters switched places.

"You still have to visit me; the boys keep asking for their Uncle Lance," Kaydee told him.

Monica leaned away from Bobbi after another huge hug, smiling. "You look so much prettier than I did at my wedding! I literally cried with joy," she confided. "I didn't think I'd need to wear waterproof, so my mascara totally ran!" She paused. "Thank you for making an honest man out of him; I thought he was going to die alone."

" _Hey!_ Monica! I can hear you, you know!"

"Good," Monica replied cheekily before jumping out of the way and hiding behind her mother as Lance reached out to mess up her hair.

Kaydee laughed, lightly punching Lance's stomach before also darting out of the way.

Hunter's mum tapped the handkerchief against her eyes. "My little boy is all grown up! I remember when you used to run around the house naked..." Bobbi abruptly stopped, mouth half-open, as her mother-in-law rambled on, oblivious to the petrified look on her son's face. "...You hated putting on clothes, and now you're married. My final child, all grown up!"

"Oh, Mum. You're not going to cry, are you?" Hunter said, desperate to get her off the topic.

"Is it too soon to start demanding grand-babies? I want at least three from you," his mum said seriously. She turned to Bobbi hopefully. "Three isn't too much to ask for, right?" she questioned.

Hunter eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. "Mum...please stop."

"What?" she asked innocently.

"Maybe this is a conversation for… a few years down the line," Hunter suggested, glancing at Bobbi with a mix of apology and mortification. _No need to apologize, Hunter,_ she wanted to tell him. This was just hilarious.

"What? Years?" squawked his mother. "You always put it off! What reason could you possible have now to wait, you're married and you're definitely going to have lots of sex…" Now it was Bobbi's turn to choke slightly, which she quickly turned into a cough.

" _MUM!_ " Hunter exclaimed. He took a deep breath. "How about you go and take a seat?" he suggested, casting pleading looks at his sisters.

Kaydee stepped forward, still laughing hysterically. "You ran off when Mum was doing this at my wedding," she pointed out. "Payback time."

Monica was grinning as well. "Just run off again, Lance."

Hunter nodded, quickly pulling Bobbi away with him. "Quick, find someone to talk to," he instructed her. Bobbi made a beeline for May, who was standing somewhat off to the side and conversing with a tall African-American man Bobbi had never seen before. But she had a good guess as to who he was.

They both stopped talking as she spotted them coming. "So, is this him?" Bobbi asked.

May laughed at her directness. "Andrew, this is my friend and colleague Bobbi Morse. Bobbi, Andrew Garner."

"Pleased to meet you," Andrew said in a deep voice. "I've been reviewing some personnel files for your organization and yours was one of the ones I came across. Very impressive."

"You're working for…" Bobbi stopped, remembering that despite being with May this was still a civilian setting, "...our organization?"

"Considering it," he nodded. "It would mean I would have to give up teaching grad students...but then again, maybe that's a plus."

Bobbi laughed. "Well, if you do take the job, watch out for those pesky S.H.I.E.L.D. regulations," she said, gesturing to the two of them. "You're a psychologist, right?"

"Yes."

"So here's what I don't get," Bobbi told him with a smile. She connected him and May with her fingers. "The high profile psychologist with the woman who hates being psychoanalyzed. Interesting match, don't you think?"

Andrew chuckled. "The trick is to psychoanalyze her when she doesn't realize it's happening," he said, sharing a conspiratorial look with Bobbi. May rolled her eyes.

After Melinda shooed them off to go mingle with other guests—and undoubtedly to get Bobbi to stop making fun of her date—Hunter steered Bobbi towards a bunch of his SAS mates. "You're a lucky man," one of them greeted him as they automatically opening up their circle to admit the newlyweds.

"Please, tell us how you convinced this beautiful beast to actually marry you!" joked another.

"I'm just irresistible," Hunter replied, smirking. He planted quick, soft kiss on Bobbi's cheek. "But you're right, I am definitely a lucky man."

"And don't you forget it," Hill said, coming up on them from behind. She took Bobbi aside for a moment, murmuring, "Your phone's going off in your bedroom. I thought you might want to know."

"Yeah, thanks," Bobbi nodded. She excused herself from the group, leaving Hunter chatting with his buddies. Her phone was silent as she entered the bedroom, but she picked it up to see two new text messages glowing on the screen. They were from Clint.

_Op ended early. Okay if I swing by the festivities on the way back to base?_

Then: _Also okay if I bring NR?_

She smiled, fingers flying over the keyboard as she texted him back. _Can't wait to see you._ No more than ten seconds passed between when she hit the send button and when the doorbell rang. Bobbi sprang out of her room to get it, nearly tripping over her dress in her haste. Clint's absence had been her one regret in all of this, but now it looked like she'd get to see him after all. She opened the door to the safehouse with a flourish, happiness painted all over her face.

Upon sight of her in her wedding dress, Clint swept her into a bone-crushing hug, an atypical move for them but no less welcome because of it. The Russian redhead stood on the edge of the second porch step behind him, watching the exchange with an empty expression. There was no aggression in her stance, and Bobbi only eyed her warily for a moment before returning her full attention to her partner. "Do you want to come in?" she asked, stepping aside and gesturing for them to do so.

"Can't stay long," Clint said regretfully. "Didn't even tell Fury I was making a stop here. If he knew I was bringing Romanoff into a civilian setting without at least a full tactical team and a couple snipers set on the roofs…"

"Hey, Bob, who was at the door?" Hunter asked, appearing beside her. He frowned slightly upon sight of the unknown man in the doorway, but his eyes slid sideways to Romanoff and he offered him his hand. "Lance Hunter. You must be Clint."

"Good to meet you," Barton smiled, accepting the handshake. He tilted his head towards Bobbi. "You're a lucky guy."

"So I've been told," Hunter joked, shifting slightly on his feet.

"All right, well, we should go," Clint said, turning to address Bobbi. "Congratulations, both of you."

"Thanks," Bobbi said. The two assassins headed back to the black van parked out front, Barton keeping the Black Widow close to him as they walked. When they had driven away, Bobbi shut the door, taking Hunter's proffered arm again. They made their way back into the fray. And tried to avoid Hunter's mum this time.

Long— _long_ —story short: they failed.

* * *

Bobbi gently closed the bedroom door behind them before leaning up against it and bursting into laughter.

"That was...that was just crazy," Hunter agreed. "I know we agreed on a small wedding, but the people just seemed to multiply…Who knew our day of bliss would be so exhausting?"

"Hopefully not too exhausting…" Bobbi smirked.

"Never too exhausted for you, Bob," he answered immediately, watching her carefully. She ambled over to the CD player she'd set up earlier in the day, turning it on and pressing play. "Setting the mood, are you?" Lance grinned. Soft music began to emanate from it, and Bobbi smiled secretly to herself before turning around.

"For dancing, yes."

"I don't dance."

"But I do," she replied, standing directly in front of him. He gazed at her for a second and then gave the smallest of nods. His hands found their way to her waist as her arms looped around his neck, holding them close. They began to sway slightly to the music. Bobbi let it wash over her in waves, a warm glow in her stomach that had nothing to do with the afternoon's champagne. It had everything to do with the fact that the man she loved had just become her husband and that she was currently ensconced in his arms.

When the tempo of the music changed, somehow she found herself on the bed with him on top of her, their bodies flush against each other. What started out as a gentle kiss became deep and passionate, and they turned slightly to allow him access to the back of her dress. His fingers tugged at the tiny zipper as hers nimbly undid the buttons of his shirt.

With the warm weight of his body atop hers, Bobbi's mind, before it shut down completely, contained only one thought: she was home.


	13. Operation: H.O.N.E.Y.M.O.O.N.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Loop" Part I

"Good morning, Mrs. Hunter," said a voice near her ear. She hummed softly, lips curving into a smile even before her eyes opened.

"Good morning, Mr. Morse," she murmured. She thought about it for a second. "Mmm, no, then you sound like my father."

Hunter wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, and you sound like what people call my mother. _Not_ what I want to be thinking about while I'm lying in bed with you. Let's not say that again."

"Agreed," Bobbi said. She tapped his chest. "So, wanna fill me in on these honeymoon plans you've kept secret from me? I'm all yours for two weeks."

"We could just stay here," Hunter suggested lazily, patting the bed. She laughed.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"You would too," he pointed out.

"Well, too bad—Maria only gave us this safehouse to use for a day," Bobbi reminded him. "And we have to throw the sheets into the laundry machine before we go."

"Figures."

"Hey, they're taking care of everything else," Bobbi smiled. "Have you seen the backyard? I know the twins weren't here, but from the looks of it you'd think they were."

"Maybe Kaydee snuck them in when we had our backs turned."

"Nah, I think this is more the fault of Melinda and Andrew challenging your sisters to a drinking game."

"They did?" Hunter asked, surprised.

"Oh, you didn't see that?" Bobbi asked. "Yeah, it was a champagne flute for Monica and Kaydee every time my dad intimidated you and a flute for Melinda and Andrew every time your mother said something embarrassing in front of a member of my family."

"So I'm guessing the latter won."

Bobbi laughed. "You wish. Don't give me that look—my dad intimidates you, just admit it." He sighed, and she took that as his admission of her correctness. "It was a tie, actually—you need to be less jumpy around my dad even if he is a former marine and your mother desperately needs a filter, but Melinda and Andrew can really hold their liquor."

"Great," Hunter muttered.

"Honeymoon plans," Bobbi prompted.

"Right. Well, you know how a couple weeks ago, you had that day off from S.H.I.E.L.D. and we were on the couch, and you said some of your favorite moments were just having a lazy day with me?" he asked.

"...vaguely…"

"Well, that's what I planned for our honeymoon. Instead of going on vacation somewhere—because really, where's somewhere that we both haven't been to before on some mission or another?—"

"North Pole," Bobbi said immediately. "Oh, wait, no, 1996. South Pole."

"Regardless," Hunter continued, "instead of going on vacation somewhere I was thinking we could spend our time making our new home."

"Our new home?" she asked, sitting up on one elbow. "You mean the one in California? But that won't be finalized until…"

"I called the guy, got him to expedite the process," Hunter smiled. "House is empty, all ours. Waiting for us."

"Lance!" she exclaimed, rocketing upward. "That's—that's amazing!"

"I'm glad you think so," Hunter said, relief coloring his voice. "Because there wasn't really any going back. Cleaning up this place isn't the only thing Hill and your other friends are going to do for us—ever since last night, they've been packing up your apartment. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s loaned us a small plane to transport it all over there too, so no long hours in a moving van either."

"You're amazing," Bobbi told him, giving him a swift kiss. "Wait a second—last night? But they were pretty drunk."

The look on Hunter's face turned from happy to bearing a trace of concern. "You're right. I didn't account for that in my original plans."

Bobbi sighed, flopping onto her back. "So, given the high likelihood we're going to have to get new dinnerware, what do you think of white with a blue rim?"

* * *

"We're here?" she asked.

"Don't you remember the place?" Hunter questioned. She heard him shift in his seat to look at her as he parked. "Bob, why are your eyes closed?"

"I just want my first look at it to be perfect," she told him. She opened her eyes slowly, then reflexively closed them as his hand flew up to cover them, so fast he nearly smacked her in the face.

"Wait! Hold on," he said. She smiled at the sound of his seatbelt unclicking and the truck door closing behind him, followed by the grating of the tailgate rolling upwards. "It'll just take a minute!" he called back to her. Hearing him rummaging around amid their boxes, she bit her lip in happy anticipation, waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

"Lance, it's fine just like it is…"

"Wait just another minute!" he insisted. "We have way too much crap, you know that? How did this all fit into your apartment?"

"It did," she reminded him with a laugh. "Just—"

"Aha, found it," Hunter called triumphantly. "But don't open your eyes! Are you looking? No? Okay. Bob, you'd better not be!"

"I'm not!"

His footsteps scampered up what she presumed to be the driveway, paused, and then came right back down again. He tapped the passenger side window with his fingernail. "Okay, now you can look."

She opened her eyes, taking in first his grinning face smashed up against the window of the U-Haul truck and then the house behind him. The driveway was made of a salmon-colored rock while the house itself was painted an off-white. There was a small lawn of grass in the front and a large window facing outwards towards the street, and between the driveway and the window was a small paved stone path leading up to the front door. Sitting on the porch was an umbrella stand. But not just any umbrella stand.

She pushed the car door open—nearly knocking Hunter, who was still plastered to it, off his feet in the process—and ran up the path to be sure.

"Hunter, is this my neighbor Stan's umbrella stand?" She tilted it to get a better look. There it was, painted in red near the bottom: _Stark Industries_. Next to it, a signature, and, _Excelsior._

"Umm...what's the right answer?" he asked.

"I'll take that as a yes," she laughed. "Did he give it to us? Why would he—did you steal it from him?"

"Hey, _I_ didn't steal it," Hunter said. "But I may have told Hill when she was gathering up our stuff at your place last night that he wanted us to have it as a wedding present and to take it too."

"Hunter!"

"What? The guy called me a bum and a no-good ruffian!"

Bobbi laughed, remembering. "But you _stole_ it."

"Who makes an umbrella stand out of an old Stark Industries missile, anyways?" Hunter asked, squatting down beside her to look.

"Maybe he knows him," Bobbi shrugged. She set it back upright and they stood up.

"Good, then he can just get another one," Hunter smiled. "I thought it might remind you of walking up to the old apartment. Shall we take a look at the rest of the house?"

Grinning, she pushed open the door and entered. Though no lights were on, she could see pretty well from just the stuff streaming through the windows. To her right was the living room and a little further beyond that to the left was the entrances to the garage and pantry. The kitchen had a sliding glass door that she skidded to a stop in front of, gazing at the beach and ocean beyond.

"That view's even better than I remember it being," her husband said from beside her.

She turned and tugged him toward her, pressing her lips against his. "Lance?" she said, pulling back.

"Yeah?"

"I can't wait to move into this house."

* * *

Bobbi woke up as the sunlight hit her face, turning away from the bright light and sat up to check the time. Her movements were halted by an arm snaking around her waist to prevent her from moving. "Where're you going?" Hunter asked with a muffled-sleep-ridden voice.

She laid back down. "Nowhere."

He turned his head to look at her, his eyes still half-shut before sliding closer to her and wrapping his arms around her. "Good."

Bobbi smiled and ran a hand over his head and down his neck, making him close his eyes long enough for her to surprise him with a kiss.

Hunter smiled into the kiss before pulling back and resting his forehead against hers. "I've just remembered something."

"Mmm, what's that?" Bobbi asked, her eyes slipping closed as she relished the moment.

Hunter leaned away from her, his arm disappearing under the bed. Her eyes opened again and she frowned at the loss of contact before shifting closer to try to see what he was reaching for. Before she could catch a true glimpse, he was lying on his back again and placing a white gift bag on his stomach, big enough to fit a small animal into. Somehow he didn't think it was an animal. Or, if he had left a puppy trapped under a bed all night, not a happy one. He laid on his back and placed it on his stomach. "A present for you."

Bobbi quirked an eyebrow as a smile spread onto her lips. "For me?" she checked and with Hunter's nod of confirmation she propped herself up on her elbow and slipped her other hand into the bag, pulling out the folded white material. She didn't know whether to laugh or glare at Hunter's gift. "A nurse's outfit?"

"A sexy nurse outfit," Hunter corrected. Glare, Bobbi decided, but that only made Hunter laugh. "Take it out," he insisted.

Bobbi was tempted to just throw the bag aside and literally gut him, but pulled out the outfit, glanced at it and threw it towards the laundry basket, unamused that the first gift he gave her as her husband was a slutty nurse costume. Hunter's smug expression caught her attention and he indicated to the bag again. She pursed her lips and looked into the bag, fearing what else might be in there, and her eyebrows raised with curiosity at the eight-by-five-inch box at the bottom. She took the box out, noticing that it was only two inches deep. "What's in the box?" she asked, not trusting his judgment after his last gift.

"Just open it," Hunter said, readjusting the way he was sitting to get more comfortable. "Trust me."

"Trust you?" Bobbi scoffed, but regardless of her words, she opened the box and her mouth dropped open for two reasons. Firstly, the sentiment and romanticness of the gift and secondly, she hadn't even realized a photo was taken. She took the chestnut photo frame out of the box-which with a jolt she remembered seeing at the giftshop in Cartagena-and looked at the photograph displayed. Whoever had taken the photo had timed it perfectly and the lighting was exquisite. Hunter was on one knee, the box open in his hand as he looked up at her, his tanned skin glowing in the sunset lighting. She was standing opposite him, the surprise evident on her face even though she was smiling. This photo was obviously captured right before she said yes.

"So— Do you like it enough to wear the nurse's outfit?" Hunter questioned, the smirk still present and now explained on his face.

"...I'll consider it."

* * *

Bobbi was not, and would never be, a housewife. She needed action in her life, the occasional threat of death, the indescribable rush that came when there were bullets flying at her or when she swept a mobster's legs out from under him with her staves or when there were lives on the line. Not that there was anything wrong with housewifery—especially with kids—but she'd always believed it wasn't a good fit for her. She was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, first and foremost, and that occupation—no, lifestyle—did not leave much time for cooking and baking and sewing and whatever else housewives do every day. However, on her honeymoon, it appeared she had that much time.

And to her surprise, she was actually discovering she liked it. A little.

Humming the tune to who-knows-what to herself, Bobbi opened the oven door to peer in at the large batch of almost-ready cookies inside before turning back to the bare cake and bowl of frosting next to it. She brushed a hand over the top and, deciding it was cool enough to begin frosting, picked up the knife. She scooped a large amount of sugary whiteness onto it and set to work on the cake.

Her honeymoon-related permanent smile widened as she heard the familiar footsteps of her husband make their way into the kitchen behind her. She automatically leaned back into his chest as his arms wrapped around her midsection. Well, just the one arm. She looked to the side to see what the matter was with the other to find it holding a black silk box. "What's that?"

"A present for you," Hunter whispered into her ear, not releasing her as he opened the box in front of her from behind. Bobbi smiled as she watched his nimble fingers work at the clasp. Though he had been giving her little gifts since they got married, only recently had he come up with a name for them and started calling them 'honeymoon gifts.' Most of them had turned out to be lingerie of increasing skimpiness. However, when he pushed the lid upward she saw a delicate, antique, and expensive-looking bracelet, and all she could do was stare at it in utter surprise.

"It's an Edwardian diamond bracelet hand-crafted in velvety eighteen carat gold topped with platinum," Hunter told her, sounding only a little bit like he'd rehearsed it. "The three central oval sections are an array of old mine and rose-cut diamonds with the band as geometric gold links." He gave a slight laugh. "And I hope you know what any of that means, because I don't."

Bobbi mouth was slightly open from shock, trying to process what exactly was glittering in front of her. "It's—"

"It's a family heirloom, from my father's side. The tradition is to..." Hunter kissed her neck. "It's time to give it to you, now that you're my wife."

Bobbi wasn't sure what she was more surprised about—Hunter giving her the bracelet, which was obviously worth a small fortune, or that he had talked voluntarily about his father. In all the time she had known him, Hunter had not once even muttered a word about the man and the one time she had asked she learned quickly not to ask again. It was one of the only times he had completely closed off. "Lance…it's beautiful," she breathed. Dimly in the background it occurred to the behavior-analyzing spy inside her that perhaps the emotional impact of this gift for him might be the reason he was doing all of this from behind instead of facing her directly.

"Not as beautiful as you," Hunter countered instantly, as if he had been expecting her to say that.

"When did you turn into a romantic?" Bobbi asked with a laugh.

"Must be from all those silly movies you make me watch," Hunter replied, making a face. "You're changing me."

Bobbi laughed. "I can't complain," she said, turning her head and placing a small kiss on his lips.  
Hunter kissed her back as he placed the box onto the side and turned her around so they could kiss properly.  
she pulled back after a few moments. "The cookies—"

"Let them burn," Hunter told her, pulling her back in and walking backwards away from the oven. That was all Bobbi needed to forget about the baked goods and let him lead her out of the kitchen.


	14. Operation: H.E.:L.L.B.E.A.S.T.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Loop" Part II

"It's good to meet you, sir," Bobbi shook the man's hand. "Fury sends his greetings from D.C. He's very pleased with the work you've been doing out here on the West Coast."

"He must be impressed to let two of his top agents work out of here instead of the Atrium," Agent Oliver said. "We're very glad to have you and Barton."

"Is Clint here already?" Bobbi asked, glancing around the office.

"He's out on an op right now," Oliver informed her. "Should be back in a few days. I'll have—" There was a knock on the door. "Come," he called.

A large, dark-skinned man entered the room. "Sir, the report you wanted on the tech upgrades," he said, stepping inside and handing Oliver a white S.H.I.E.L.D. file folder.

"Oh, good, I wasn't expecting this until tomorrow," he replied, glancing through it before placing it down on his desk. "Does this mean you're free for the rest of today?"

"Yes, sir."

Oliver gestured to Bobbi. "This is Agent Morse, fresh from the Atrium. Why don't you give her the tour and assign her a locker?"

"Happy to," the man replied before turning to Bobbi. "Alfonso Mackenzie, but I prefer people to call me Mack."

"Barbara Morse," she shook his hand. With a wave of dismissal from Oliver they left the office. "How long have you been with S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Bobbi asked.

"Coming up on seven years with S.H.I.E.L.D., two at this base," Mack replied. "And you?"

"Eight," she answered. "But it doesn't feel like it. Feels like just yesterday I was stepping out of the Academy, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed with no idea the wild ride I was getting myself into."

"I know the feeling," Mack laughed. "What brings you out to California?"

"I just got married, and we decided to move out here," Bobbi replied. She gave a slight shrug. "It's beautiful."

"Ah, newlywed," Mack nodded, smiling. "Honeymoon just end? Recently brought back to the real world?" Bobbi nodded. "Tough," he commented, stopping in front of a row of lockers. "But I'll do my best to make your transition as smooth as possible."

"Thank you," she grinned.

* * *

Bobbi crashed down onto the roof, letting her knees buckle underneath her as her stealth-issue parachute slowly deflated behind her. She cut the strings with a quick slash of her knife, and she pulled it behind the ventilation grate with her as she crouched down. She stuffed the knife back into the slot in the front part of her uniform and waited patiently to see if she had been spotted. After a few minutes of no movement, she decided not and tapped her earpiece. "Barton, come in."

"Mockingbird, fall back, I'll meet you at the safehouse."

"Hawkeye, what's happening?" Bobbi asked, switching to the code names along with him. This didn't seem like a routine mission anymore.

"Mockingbird, I repeat, fall back. We have to reconvene and work out a new route in. Seems our information is outdated," Clint explained.

"You couldn't have told me this _before_ I had to jump out of the aircraft?" Bobbi muttered to herself before reactivating her earpiece. "See you soon," Bobbi told him, before carefully sneaking off the roof and taking the rickety old fire escape to the ground. When she was a mile away from drop site and sure she wasn't followed, she slowed to a walk, pulling out her phone to call Hunter. The safehouse was a further three minutes from her current location and she decided that walking part of it wouldn't hurt.

Hunter answered straight away. "I'm a married man," he said in greeting.

Bobbi smiled instinctively at his words. "And I'm a married woman."

"Bobbi!" Hunter exclaimed, surprise in his voice. She heard a clatter on the other end.

"What are you doing?" Bobbi questioned. He never answered the phone without checking who it was, unless he was rushing to get it or doing something he shouldn't. Seeing as he answered it instantly, it must have been the latter.

"Nothing. How are you? I miss you!" Hunter said, sweetening his voice as much as he could.

"Hunter..." Bobbi said seriously, feeling that it may have not been the best idea to call him.

"Hunter..." Hunter mimicked. "You're part of the family too, Bob; I can call you that now. I'm just trying to make something… It's not going exactly to plan. But don't worry—the house will be clean for when you return tomorrow."

Bobbi bit her lip for a second. "About that..." she started. She heard him set something down on the counter, hard.

"Okay, it will definitely be cleaned up then," Hunter promised, forcing a laugh. "Remind me never to attempt baking again."

Bobbi glanced around, making sure she was still alone and trying to think of the best thing she could tell him at this point. "When I get back, I'll teach you to bake cookies, okay?"

"Deal," Hunter replied immediately. "Are you having fun out there in…"

"An undisclosed location. There's been a bit of a hitch, but nothing that Clint and I can't sort out," Bobbi replied. She could feel him rolling his eyes. "What are you going to do tonight?" she asked, a small part of her longing to be right with him. She loved working for S.H.I.E.L.D., but having spent an uninterrupted two weeks on their honeymoon with him 24/7—and not killing him for the excessive talking—and then a further two weeks of no missions and spending every night with him made her miss his constant presence. It felt weird knowing that she wouldn't be back in time to wake him up in the morning. To not be able to curl up next to him or steal the covers from him. She had anticipated completion of the mission in a few hours and then the long six hour flight back. However, now that they had to reconvene and re-formulate the mission, she knew that they would probably have to wait until tomorrow night, meaning it kept her away from Hunter longer than she liked for her first mission since tying the knot.

"Tonight I will be cleaning up all the mess I've made," Hunter replied, making her smile widely at the thought of him actually attempting to tidy up properly. "Then I'll have a beer and watch a movie. Maybe Star Wars."

"Sounds like heaven," Bobbi murmured. A nearby shadow caught her attention, one that wasn't there seconds ago. She knew she couldn't make Hunter suspicious or let her guard down, so her free hand was already wrapped around her gun. "I love you, see you soon," she said. She waited for Hunter to reply, barely even registering what he had said before uttering a goodbye and hanging up just in time to drop her phone into her pocket, switch to her staves, and block the attack.

Then Clint's grinning face popped out in front of her. He was messing with her. "Talking to Mr. Morse?" Clint asked, laughing at her reaction.

Bobbi huffed slightly. "I should have shot you."

"Where's the fun in that? You could have called him from the safehouse, probably safer."

"No, I always turn my phone off when I'm within a half mile of the safehouse or the target—it's a habit. Besides, then I would have you listening in on a private conversation."

"That's a good habit," Clint agreed. "Are you always going to call him during a mission? Because that could be fun. For me. Not so much for you."

"Shut up, Barton."

* * *

"We should go on a double date with _them_ ," Hunter suggested. They were sitting on the couch together, each doing their own thing but still enjoying each other's company.

Bobbi didn't bother looking up from her book. "We're married now, Hunter. We don't have to do the dating thing anymore."

"Date night, then," Hunter amended. "You know, two people happily in love—or in this case, four—go out, have dinner somewhere nice, the night ends with—"

"Yeah, okay, I get the point," Bobbi cut him off with a slight smile. "Who did you want to double date with, Melinda and Andrew?"

"Ah, no," Hunter said quickly.

"Oh come on, she likes you now," Bobbi laughed. "Sort of. Being married to me has done wonders for your image. And contrary to popular belief, her death stares aren't lethal in small doses."

"Still, no," Hunter said in a strange voice. Bobbi looked up from her book curiously. Something was up; all of her spidey senses were tingling.

"Hunter," she said. "Why don't you want to go on a date with Melinda and Andrew?"

He quailed under her gaze. "Uh, well, it's not me that doesn't want to...I mean, I don't think they want to go on a date with us right now," he finished lamely.

"What? What are you talking about?" Bobbi asked, closing her book with a frown. "What did you do, Hunter?"

"I didn't do anything!" he protested. "I just..." He stopped and she gave him a look strong enough to make him squirm. "I called her the other day—" Oh, this can't be good. "—because I wanted her opinion on this birthday gift idea I had for you. It took a long time for her to pick up and she must've thought I was someone else, because... They're in the Bahamas right now, Bob."

"Oh. Okay, so?"

"So they...they got married there."

" _They eloped?_ " Bobbi demanded. "How long ago was this? Why didn't they tell us?"

"Um...about a week ago..."

She threw her book at him and it bounced off his head. "You've known for a week and you didn't tell me?"

"She told me not to! Threatened me with...you know, dismemberment. Plus, I did tell you! Just now."

"And risked _dismemberment_ , wow, thanks," Bobbi rolled her eyes.

"What can I say? You scare me more than she does."

"As it should be." Bobbi smiled, then cast her angry gaze around again as she remembered why they were on this topic in the first place. "I'm going to kill her, running off and eloping like that."

"Just leave me out of it, yeah?" Hunter asked. "I like full use of my limbs very much, thank you."

"Fine," Bobbi relented. "But if she doesn't tell me the second she gets back from their—what are they on now, a honeymoon?"

"Yeah."

"—honeymoon," Bobbi threatened. She sighed. "So, who was it that you wanted to go on a double date with then?"

"Barton and that redhead that showed up at our wedding," Hunter told her. "They looked like _they_ would have some interesting stories to tell."

She looked at him incredulously. "Clint and Romanoff?" She started laughing. "They're not a couple, Hunter. She's the one I told you about, before our trip to Cartagena. The assassin that S.H.I.E.L.D.'s been rehabilitating. Or that Clint's trying to, anyways."

"He brought an assassin to our wedding?!" Hunter exploded. "My mum and sisters were there!"

"Uh...I gave him permission?" Bobbi offered. "Why in the world did you think they were a thing?"

"Well, they showed up together...and she's hot, so…"

" _Hunter_!"

* * *

Hunter's laughter rang through the crisp early morning, loud enough to wake Bobbi from her deep long-mission-induced sleep. She reached her hand across the bed to punch him and tell him to shut up only to find it cool and empty. Startled, she opened her eyes and looked around in the darkness, the glowing light from the clock indicating that it was a little after 4:00 A.M.

His laugh broke the early morning silence again, coming from somewhere beyond the bedroom. With a sigh, Bobbi slipped her legs out of bed, toes making contact with the cold floor. She headed out of the room to find him, following the sound of his voice.

"You're just jealous," Hunter said. It was coming from the kitchen, and Bobbi wondered who the hell he could be talking to at this time of night. "Are you kidding? She's a hellbeast in the sack! I really don't care how flexible this 'Rosita' is," Hunter continued, chuckling. "Yeah, well you can keep her—I'm a married man."

Bobbi moved cautiously into the kitchen to see Hunter leaning against the counter, facing away from her and holding the phone up to his ear.

"Dude! I would never, I mean _never_ let Bobbi dictate what I can or can't do. I'm the man of the household," Hunter said confidently. Bobbi cleared her throat, causing Hunter to jump and spin around to face her, shock evident on his face. Bobbi crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "And this man loves his wife and would do anything for her… I gotta go, man—she's awake," Hunter said, hanging up his phone in a hurry. "How much did you hear of that?" he asked, hesitantly walking over to her.

"Hellbeast in the sack?" Bobbi questioned, trying to look angry even though she was highly amused.

"Trust me, it's a compliment," Hunter assured her before bravely snaking his arms around her waist and pulling her towards him.

Bobbi nodded. "Okay then… 'Man of the house'?" she repeated, her eyes narrowing.

"Well, I _am_ a man, and this _is_ a house…" Hunter visibly gulped. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

"A bit."

"I can make it up to you?"

"You'd better." She paused. "Who the hell were you talking to at four in the morning anyway?"

"A friend from the SAS," Hunter replied. "It's noon in England right now."

"Well, it's not noon here," Bobbi said in a disgruntled tone. She turned away. "Are you coming back to bed or what?"

"Are you going to kill me in my sleep if I do?" he asked, following her a few paces behind.

"Maybe, maybe not." She smiled to herself as she climbed back in bed. "Probably not. That was nothing compared to what I tell May and Hill about _you_."


	15. Operation: E.X.T.R.A.C.T.I.O.N.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Loop" Part III

"You are _so_ dead to me!" Bobbi exclaimed, pressing her finger into May's chest and walking her backward into the bar.

"Whoa! Bobbi, what are you talking—" May protested, back slamming up against the edge of the counter. She could tell by the tensing of her body that the specialist's combat instincts almost kicked in, but that she resisted because it was Bobbi pushing her back. And hopefully because she knew she deserved it.

"Your hand," Bobbi demanded, fishing it out from behind her friend's back. She held it out triumphantly for Hill to see, the completed diamond ring sparkling on May's third finger.

"Oh my God you did it," Hill said, staring at her.

"Get off of me," May stalled, pushing Bobbi away and extracting herself from her grip. She faced them both. "Yes, Andrew and I eloped!"

"You got married; that's great! I'm so happy for you, Melinda!" Hill smiled.

"How could you not tell me, _us_!" Bobbi continued, a combination of furious and happy to see her. "You didn't think it was prudent to invite me or Maria? Or—"

"We didn't want to make a big deal out of it," May explained. "I apologize, Bobbi. Now, have you gotten that out of your system? Andrew's going to be joining us any minute; he's just parking the car."

She was about to say no, but thought better of it, growling, "Yes." After a moment, she added, "Pull something like that again and I _will_ kill you though. Baby shower? Kids' birthdays? We _will_ be there for those! Got it?"

"Slow down," May laughed. "Little early to be thinking about kids. Relax." She turned to Hunter, who had followed them inside. "And you need to learn a lesson about keeping your mouth shut." Her glare wasn't particularly hostile but Hunter stepped to the side, putting Bobbi in between him and May.

"Why do I get the feeling I just walked in on something big?" May's new husband asked from behind them.

"Andrew, you really don't want to know," Hill promised, laughing. "Drinks?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"I want all the details," Bobbi told them flatly as they waited for their glasses. "And I mean _all_ of them."

"Wait," Hill said as they made their way to one of the booths. "Why don't we start from the beginning? I don't even know how you two met!"

"How we met?" Andrew asked, looking at May. "Isn't that classified or something?"

She laughed. "I don't think so. It was only _after_ the mission when I had to go see you…"

"Hold on," Bobbi interrupted. "You dated and married your patient? Isn't there a rule against that or something?"

Andrew nodded. "Yes, yes, there is. But Melinda only came to see me the one time, and she wasn't much of a patient anyways. Just sat in her chair and stared me down until she had completed her allotted hours."

"After that, S.H.I.E.L.D. moved away from using outside psychologists for their agents, and it was a non-issue," May smiled. "Now of course he's going to come on as a consultant for the Index Asset Evals, but nothing S.H.I.E.L.D. can do about that anymore." She held her left hand up as proof.

"He was your shrink," Bobbi laughed, teasing, "S.H.I.E.L.D.-mandated, even. Talk about non-romantic first-meeting stories."

"Hey, what about you?" Hill asked, coming to May's defense with a mischievous raised eyebrow. "Your first date? How romantic was _that_?"

"Wait, what about our first date?" Hunter asked, leaning forward. The smile slid off Bobbi's face, but no one else seemed to notice.

"Oh, you didn't know?" May laughed, exchanging amused glances with Hill. "You were a mark, Hunter. Hers."

"Bobbi went on your first date for a mission," Hill agreed.

"Well, that and because we teased her into it," May added.

Hunter turned on Bobbi. "Is this true?"

"Well, yeah, but Lance—"

"Our first date was a S.H.I.E.L.D. mission of yours?"

"—it turned into much more than that anyway," Bobbi finished.

"Oh, yeah, it did, I'd forgotten about that," May smirked. "She got the intel and then some…"

"Thanks a lot," Bobbi told Hill with a sigh. She caught Hunter by the back of the shirt as he was about to get up and leave the table. "Oh, come on, Hunter, it's not that big a deal. Something to laugh about now that we're married, okay?" He reluctantly sat back down. "Besides, you won anyways. Obviously I became severely compromised."

"That's a good point," Hill nodded, finally catching onto the fact that her comment may have made things spiral out of control a little and trying to rein it back in. Hunter let the matter go with a sigh, but not before giving Bobbi a few seconds of the evil eye. "Now, back to our original topic—Melinda, your wedding. Start spilling."

* * *

"I can't believe you vote for all of this stuff," Hunter said, leaning over her shoulder as the TV played quietly in the background. She rolled her eyes, shifting to cover up the markings on her absentee ballot.

"These things are supposed to be confidential, you know," Bobbi told him, gently pushing him away.

"Hey, it's not like I can vote in this country anyway," he reminded her.

She smiled. "Does that bother you, now that you're living here?"

"Not a bit," Hunter replied, taking a seat next to her and ignoring her attempts to push him away.

"Then leave me alone and let me do my civic duty as an informed American," Bobbi told him.

"Isn't that a bit of an oxymor—?" He stopped as she raised an eyebrow.

"You know what?" she said, sliding closer to him and plopping herself down again. "Here, watch me all you like. You might learn a thing or two."

"I've always disliked that guy," Hunter said after a few moments. She looked at him askance.

"Who, Obama?"

"No, him," Hunter pointed to the TV. "Tony Stark, billionaire playboy. And kind of an arsehole. It says he's up next to talk about his building blowing up."

"Ah," Bobbi said, turning her attention to the news report, which was currently showing a Colonel James Rhodes at the podium.

"Even after Stark Industries stopped making weapons—which was just weird, by the way," Hunter added.

"Well, Stark was abducted by terrorists," she shrugged. "Who knows what affect that may have had on him?" She had to hold back a smile as the camera zoomed out for a second and she caught a glimpse of Coulson standing nondescriptly in the corner.

"And all that media crap wondering if he's Iron Man?" Hunter scoffed. "Like a rich guy like that is going to risk his life flying around in a metal can—"

"I am Iron Man," Stark interrupted. The crowd in front of him erupted even as Hunter's mouth dropped open. Bobbi just stared in shock at the TV, then reached for her phone.

"I have to call in," she said distractedly, sweeping her ballot to the side. "Hey, Clint—any word on what's going on with Coulson's op right now?"

* * *

A murky grayness registered first as her eyelids cracked open, with the rest of the world zooming into existence as groggy alarm bells went off in her head. Where was she? A windowless, decrepit-looking room. Tied to a chair, wrists and ankles. Possibly drugged, given the magnitude of her headache. She stopped, counting to one hundred thirty-three by nineteens. Mental acuity intact, if slightly slower. That meant it was probably just chloroform they'd used on her. Now, who was _they_?

Her mission held the answers. Human traffickers, Johannesburg, South Africa. And it had been a one-man op, or in this case a one-woman op, as the traffickers had dealt mostly in females. She had been deep undercover. And apparently they had found out.

Which meant she was on her own until S.H.I.E.L.D. realized something was wrong when she missed her next check-in.

Bobbi struggled against the restraints. They were made of simple rope but wound so tightly even flexing her fingers strained against them. Her ankles were chained to the ground, but if she could just get her hands free that and find something to pick the lock within body-length reach that wouldn't be a problem. Bobbi gave a mighty pull, hissing in pain as she felt the all-too-familiar burn on her wrists as she did so. Okay. Time to find a different plan.

She cast her eyes about the small space, searching the room for anything vaguely useful. Even something that would aid the rest of her escape should she manage to free herself of these bonds, no matter how much skin she lost in the process. Or alternatively, she could just wait for the traffickers to return and take her chances with them. Then again, they would most likely come back bearing guns and in large numbers, and even Mockingbird couldn't take on a dozen men with Uzis trained on her from tied up—especially without her staves.

So, means of escape before then. Her eyes alighted on the ventilation grate near the ceiling. The screws holding it in place were already loose, with one missing altogether. If she were able to get out of her bonds, she could use the chair to...no, that wouldn't work. Her ankles were still shackled to the floor. Unless...she twisted her hands to feel the back of her chair, giving a half-smirk, half-grimace as she felt the cool roundedness of a nail holding the back of the chair and the seat together. Wrists truly on fire now, she adjusted her position so that she could minimize the pain at the same time as maximizing efficiency at using the nails of her forefinger and numb to scrabble at and ever so slowly work loose the nail. Her fingers slipped once, her nail digging into her own flesh with the force of her pulling, but she continued with a determined clench of her teeth. Finally she succeeded in prying the nail free, cupping it carefully in her palm and returning her wrists to their usual orientation for a brief moment of recovery. Then she began to saw away at her bindings, feeling her way around the knot first to determine which loop of rope was the most valuable to cut through.

She worked the nail back and forth, ignoring the bite of the stiff rope into her wrists. She could feel her progress, the gradual fraying of the desired loop. When it finally broke, she wiggled her right hand free swiftly and then her left. She paused a moment to recover, looking down at the nasty red-purple bruising coloring each of her wrists and wondering what Hunter would say. Maybe she would get lucky and have to hole up in a safehouse in Johannesburg for a few days before she could take the trip home and they would heal a bit before she saw him. Despite the fact that all she wanted to do right now was go home, it would probably be best if he never saw the bruising at all. Her injuries tended to make him anxious, just as his did her.

Noises from beyond the walls of her little room reinvigorated her and she reached for the lock binding her feet to the floor. She needed to get free before the traffickers came back, which sounded like it might be soon.

Suddenly a voice appeared behind her. "Hello, my name is Lance, and I'll be saving your arse today." Bobbi froze. At first she worried that he was an auditory hallucination induced by the chloroform and her want to see him—what the hell was he doing here?—but when she twisted around he was really stand there, suited up with gun in hand.

"Lance?" she asked, relief in her tone as well as confusion. "How did you—what are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you, but I don't know what or who from," Hunter said, coming further into the room. "Duck!" She obeyed without even thinking about it, whipping around even as she scrunched lower in her seat to see a body fall dead in the doorway from her husband's shot to the head. As she watched, Lance moved swiftly to the body and drag it inside, closing the door as well. He searched the man's pockets, coming up with a key that looked like it would fit her shackles. He knelt down next to her and inserted the key into the lock. She was free.

He pulled her to her feet, eyes ghosting over the coloration of her wrists but making no comment. "Let's go," he said, gesturing back out the way he had come. He led the way through the maze of a facility, looking back to check that she was still with him every so often.

"Wait!" she called out. He stopped, alarmed, to find her ten feet behind and standing in the middle of the hallway.

"What? Come on, we have to go before shift change and they see what I did to their guards by the back entrance," Hunter said.

"It'll just take a minute," Bobbi promised, ducking into the room. Hunter followed, swearing under his breath. She hurried around the desk and accessed the computer. "Watch the door."

"What the hell are we stopping for, Bob?"

"The mission," she answered. She sent a file to the printer, waiting as the sluggish machine spit out half a dozen sheets of paper. She picked them up, folding and stuffing them into the waistband of her ragged pants. "Now we can go."

Hunter gave her a hard stare before turning on his heel and heading out of the room towards the exit. They burst through the back entrance into open sunlight, Bobbi shading her eyes to see the two bodies to which Hunter had referred. Bobbi put in a call to Hill on his phone as he drove them to the airport since she lacked a passport to get back into the United States. Hill cleared it with the South African officials and TSA in D.C. without too much hassle. Bobbi wanted to ask why Hunter had been brought in but didn't have time before they pulled up at the airport.

Their flight was a red-eye, and Bobbi and Hunter sat in silence as plane began its ascent. She wasn't sure quite what to say, or if he wanted her to say anything at all, or just go to sleep like normal people on a flight like this. He wasn't speaking which was unusual in and of itself, and more than enough cause for concern. Or maybe he just wanted to allow her to rest after her ordeal. Hell if she knew.

When the plane reached altitude and the fasten-seatbelt light went off with a ding, she shifted in her seat. "Thanks for...you know."

"You're welcome, Bob." His voice was decidedly neutral and she knew something was wrong. Lance Hunter, the only mercenary in the world who wore his heart on his sleeve, didn't do neutral.

"How did you know where to find me? Or that I needed help?"

"Hill called. Said she was declassifying part of your mission for me. That based on their latest intel you'd been compromised but because of the ongoing negotiations with the South African government they couldn't send in a S.H.I.E.L.D. extraction team."

"She asked you to rescue me?"

"In her words, she was just informing me. Beneath them...if she didn't want me going after you, she wouldn't have told me in the first place. There've been plenty of other times she hasn't," Hunter said flatly. He settled back, unwilling to say anything else.

If he wanted to stew, then that was fine with her.

The next morning, when they woke up in their own bed, was a different story. "Are you still upset?" she asked him as she pulled the covers over their bed and tucked them in.

"Not at you. Not your fault you were stuck in a bad situation with no backup."

"Are you saying there was someone to blame?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D.," Hunter said. "Sending you in there with no backup, no extraction."

"They sent you," Bobbi pointed out.

"And what if I hadn't existed? What if I wasn't a merc? What then, Bob?" he demanded. "S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't send me in there, Hill did, and—"

"She's deputy director, that's S.H.I.E.L.D. at its highest," Bobbi said. "I made it out fine, Hunter. Had you not been around they would have sent someone else." She frowned. "I'm grateful that you came for me, Lance. But this is my job—you need to be less sensitive to this type of thing."

"This type of thing being my wife fighting for her life all alone?"

"If that's what S.H.I.E.L.D. requires from me, then yes! And it's not like your wife isn't perfectly capable," her eyes flashed. "You have to trust me, Hunter, to come home to you. Trust that S.H.I.E.L.D. will do everything in its power to bring me home to you."

Hunter gave a frustrated sigh. "I thought it wouldn't be a problem. I thought that since I was contracting privately it wouldn't matter. But I didn't count on falling in love you this hard. Bob, I can't...I can't imagine losing you; I can't reconcile myself with that possibility."

Her gaze softened. "Lance, I—" Her ringing cell phone interrupted her mid-sentence and she picked it up immediately. "Sure, give me twenty minutes." She shoved the phone into her back pocket. "Hunter, I have to go in. Clint says we've got an op, time sensitive."

"Clint," Hunter said, head bobbing up and down with the name. "Right."

"Do you have a problem with Clint?" Bobbi challenged, eyes flashing.

"No," he turned away angrily. "Just go, Bob."

"We can finish this when I get back. I'll try to text you with a estimate after the briefing, but you know how it is sometimes." She fetched the car keys from the little hummingbird rack by the front door, Hunter following silently in her wake to see her off. "I love you," she offered, hand on the doorknob.

He broke. They embraced tightly, her trying to convey all her assurance that everything was going to turn out all right and him his crazy, obstinate love for her no matter how frustrated he was. "I love you too," he whispered into her hair. "Don't die out there, all right?"

"I promise." They kissed gently before she had to fly out the door.


	16. Operation: P.E.T.R.O.L.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Loop" Part IV

The op ended up lasting seven days, culminating in a low-down, drag-out fight with her and Clint against sixteen men sans weapons. She saved his life, he saved hers, but by the time she took the keys out of the ignition in their driveway she was exhausted, battered, and bruised. Every breath lit her rib cage on fire, and she was starting to think she should have stayed behind on base long enough for the medics to check her out for real. But no, she'd promised Hunter she would be back as soon as she could, and this wasn't the worst beating she'd ever taken.

When she opened the door, she could hear the TV set on in the living room, some old movie from the '80s. A western from the sound of it, with the distinctive pinging of bullets from that era. "Lance?" she asked. All of a sudden the movie sounds stopped, and then Hunter was emerging from the living room. Utter fear entered his eyes as he took her in and it wasn't more than a moment before his hands were on her shoulders, fingertips trailing featherlike over the bruises on her arms.

"Bob," he whispered. They embraced, him being careful not to press on anything sensitive. "What happened?" he asked, taking the coat from her arms and removing the staves from her belt. He led her to the couch, pulling a well-used medical kit from the cupboard under the sink.

"Sixteen men," she said in reply as he removed her shirt, revealing the tank top she wore underneath and the myriad of bruises coloring her skin. She lifted the bottom of it to make visible a particularly nasty one on the side of her stomach. "Bullet nearly penetrated the vest."

Hunter scowled, not at her, but at the situation in general as he began working. "Hell of a day then, huh. Hell of a week." His tone on the word 'week' let her know that they weren't going to escape the end of their previous conversation tonight unscathed. Weighing the scales tiredly, she decided that it might be better to get some of it out there now than prolong either of their simmering anger any longer.

"Hunter, I'm sorry."

"Unless you took a stave to yourself, love, I don't think this was your fault," he muttered. More evidence of his discontent: he never called her 'love' on good days.

"You know what I mean." He was kneeling in front of her now, tending to a rather nasty scratch on her inner arm that snaked up to her wrist.

"What do you want me to say?" Hunter demanded.

"Something, anything," Bobbi insisted. "The truth."

"You wouldn't like the truth," Hunter replied, keeping his focus on her injuries. From his evasiveness she could tell he didn't exactly want to have this conversation when she was literally battered and bruised, but she could almost see the dark thoughts and emotions swirling just beneath the surface.

"Lance," she said again. She didn't want them to fight, not truly—not if it could be avoided—but she liked the thought of him keeping his feelings hidden from her even less.

"You know, it's funny how you always want me to tell the truth when you're the one constantly keeping secrets," Hunter replied suddenly, a bitter tone etched into his voice.

"What?" Bobbi asked, stunned.

"You go on countless missions without giving a second thought to how dangerous it could be," Hunter pressed on. "It looks like you almost died, Bob—looks like you almost didn't keep your promise of coming back". He glanced up at her for a moment, and she kept her face studiously blank as she attempted to work out how to reply. He didn't give her enough time as he continued talking and tending to her wounds. "I know that you can't tell me about some missions, and just now, you only told me the basics...but Bob, you almost died."

"I've had worse injuries," Bobbi said defensively, her voice raised and scratchy.

"And that worries me! It worries me because one day you're going to go in a mission with _Clint_ ," he said, obvious disdain in his voice, "and come back in a body bag!" She ignored his jab at her partner, putting a hand on his shoulder to silence him. She had so many defenses she could use, not the least of which being an angry retort about his irrational jealousy over Clint and how ridiculous he was being. But those would just lead to a longer fight, and despite her words of a few minutes ago the fatigue was getting to her—she hadn't been this drained in years, and when she had been, she was in the hospital. She knew there was little chance she would be able to last through this fight; she had no more adrenaline left to fuel her through it no matter how aggravated she let herself get. As much as she would have liked to get this over with quickly, it simply wasn't happening tonight.

She gently placed her fingers under his jaw and tilted his head up, feeling his slight stubble underneath her fingertips. Bobbi was relieved to see the concern and sadness paramount to the frustration in his eyes. This time around he'd managed to modulate his voice to try to hide it, but his eyes revealed to her exactly how worried he was.

"Lance," she said softly, almost a whisper, using the voice to which she knew he couldn't say no. "Can we please not do this now?" She exhaled. "I just want you to hold me."

Hunter's expression instantly changed, eyes flicking over her bruised body again. She knew he'd been angry, with the worry slowly building up the seven days she'd been gone, consuming him and combining with the frustration from the half-fight they'd gotten through before she'd been called away. She knew the anger stemmed from not being able to do anything, not being able to get a response from S.H.I.E.L.D., not able to know where she was, what she was doing, or even _how_ she was doing as his wife was halfway around the globe fighting sometimes-superpowered criminals with two metal sticks. But she also knew he knew that was in the job description.

And she was home safe again. That was all that mattered.

As if arriving at the same conclusion, Hunter nodded and set the first aid kit to the side. "Any other injuries?" he asked, his hand taking hers as he ran his thumb gently over her knuckles.

Bobbi knew she had won, for now. Using her injuries to end the conversation was by no means a solution, or even part of one, but it was enough for this moment. Sometime soon she undoubtedly would have to try to explain herself and S.H.I.E.L.D. again to him, and it would be just as difficult as the five times before given that most of it was highly classified anyways. But that day was not today. "No," she replied.

Hunter stood up, holding out his hands to pull her up gently before wrapping his arms around her in a soft, tender hug. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too."

A month later, neither of them had yet dared to return and finish the fight.

* * *

Bobbi called a hurried goodbye to him and walked out into the garage, hitting the button to open it before getting into her car. She readjusted the seat and the rear-view mirror since Hunter had borrowed it last night, fastening her seatbelt and starting the ignition. Pulling out of the garage, she used the remote to close the garage again before heading off down the street. She turned the radio on as she sped up to the speed limit...or tried to anyway. Why was her car slowing down? And why was there a light blinking on her dash?

Damn it, Hunter. He'd somehow managed to leave her with no gas and a single bar of battery. The bar lasted through her pulling to the side before winking out completely. She was going to kill him.

Bobbi ran back to the house, bursting in the front door and nearly making him choke on his cereal. "Hunter," she growled.

"Bobbi! What are you doing back?" he asked, surprised. '"Did you miss me already?"

"Why is my car out of gas?" she demanded.

"Ah, that reminds me—your petrol light came on last night. I meant to fill it up."

She hissed in annoyance and began casting her gaze around the kitchen. "What are you looking for?" Hunter asked.

"Your car keys." She tossed hers at him, spotting his lying on the counter.

"Hey!"

"It's your problem now; I have to go," she told him. "It's parked just down the street because that's as far as I got." She headed for the garage.

"But how am I supposed to get petrol if I don't have a car?" asked Hunter's muffled voice.

"Figure it out!" she called, getting into his 1967 Pontiac GTO and starting the engine. She wrinkled her nose as it sputtered to life. Stupid, polluting, gas-guzzling engine. Why she'd ever let Hunter back into the house after he'd come home with this thing was beyond her… It was the kind of old antiquated thing Coulson would like. Seeing his delighted face as she pulled in in this piece of junk _might_ make it all worth it, even if it was five years younger than Lola. But Coulson was back on the East Coast.

Hunter opened the door to the garage just as she was pulling out. "Don't scratch my car!"

"Goodbye to you too!" she shouted back from the end of the driveway. "Fill up mine!" How bad of a driver did he think she was? It was his that was downright scary, especially when he was tired— _yes, Hunter, here you're supposed to drive on the right side of the street. The right. The OTHER RIGHT!_ Cue squeal of tires and honking of horns.

Bobbi laughed to herself softly and continued driving.

When the work day was over, she spent nearly a minute looking in vain for her Prius in the parking garage before finally remembering that that butt-ugly GTO was her ride home. She stopped at the gas station first, filling up his tank—with the side-notion that if he had for some reason failed to fill hers, she could just siphon it off when she arrived and leave the Pontiac in the middle of the street with no fuel instead. Sometimes she loved the way her mind worked.

Bobbi had just pulled onto the main road again when her phone rang. She set it on the passenger chair on speaker. "Morse."

"Defcon one, Barbara," Mack's voice came through. The science fiction geek in her took that to mean really, really bad. "At the explosives lab. Reports of attacks coming through.

"Orders?" she asked, gripping the wheel tightly.

"Head over there and assess the situation," he replied.

"Got it," Bobbi said. "Be there in a few." She did a U-turn as soon as it was legal and headed back the way she'd come, promising herself she'd text Hunter to tell him she'd be late as soon as she got there. When she pulled up the place was in flames and three firetrucks had already pulled up, with men standing outside in full suits arguing with a few S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Bobbi sent off the message rapidly and headed over to them as the discussion started to get angry, feeling the waves of heat radiating off the burning building. "What seems to be the problem here?" she asked, smoothly inserting herself into the midst of them and taking on an air of command.

"These men aren't letting us do our jobs," the firefighter in charge explained exasperatedly.

"There's top-secret government materials inside that can't be—" one of her fellow S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, a short, balding man, protested.

"Yeah, yeah, you've said," the man shook his head. "And yet you can't tell me who you are. We need to get a move on this now, before the fire gets any worse."

"We have our own people coming with the means to put it out," Bobbi informed him. "They're just a minute or so out. The area around it is clear, so you shouldn't have to worry about nearby buildings catching on fire."

"Ma'am, the longer we wait, the more structurally unstable the building gets," the firefight explained. "Unless you can show us some official ID—" The sounds of new sirens over the roar and crackle of the flames interrupted him, and they all looked up to see four black versions of the fire trucks screaming into the lot and two planes equipped with large tanks on their way. "Well, I guess you really do have this covered," the man said uncertainly. "I'm going to need to talk to your superior…"

"I'm the lead on this," Bobbi lied. She pulled out a blank business card and scribbled her name and number on it. "Once we're done here, you can contact me with any questions you have, and I'll answer them as best I can without revealing any classified information."

"What is this place?" he asked. "NSA? FBI? CIA? Or is that classified as well?"

Bobbi gave him a tight-lipped smile before thrusting the card into his hand and walking towards the S.H.I.E.L.D. trucks. The planes flew in circles over the complex from overhead, propellers stirring up the air. Before long, the flames were under control and the city firefighters begrudgingly left.

"Surely there's a better procedure for this kind of thing?" Bobbi asked Agent Oliver, who had arrived a few minutes after her and was currently overseeing the dousing of last few pockets of unruly conflagration.

He gave a small nod. "Of course there is, so that the city doesn't send fire crews we won't use."

"So what happened this time? Do we know?"

"A nearby civilian called it in. And it wasn't a system malfunction; it was an attack—we were a bit busy trying to root out whoever it was to warn the fire department that they might receive a call about it," he explained. Oliver glanced at his watch. "You can go on home, Morse. They're long gone by now; intel has them stealing vans from nearby lots and taking off in both directions on I-5. We can get a fresh start tomorrow."

"Okay," Bobbi agreed, glancing up at the sky. The sun had fully set but the sky was still lit along the edges, murky. She headed to her car with a sigh, wondering exactly how much she smelled of smoke. She was just fifteen feet away when a huge burst of light hit her eyes, a fireball that engulfed—no, _spread out from_ —Hunter's beloved Pontiac GTO. The shockwave hit her like a freight train and she staggered backward, barely able to comprehend what she was seeing as she struggled to remain on her feet. A S.H.I.E.L.D. van five cars away exploded next, blinding her and the agent who had approached it. "Get away from the vehicles!" she screamed, voice nearly going hoarse with the strain of making herself heard. Someone tapped her from behind and she spun around, nearly taking them out before she recognized Mack, his lips moving but only the soft voice of a child coming out of it.

"What?" she asked him loudly.

"Your ears!" he repeated in that same soft voice, though his exaggerated lip movements were more like he was yelling. He gestured empathically to her ears, which just then as she became aware of them began to ring.

"Is ringing a good thing?" she called to Mack.

"I'm standing right next to you; don't shout," he instructed, offering his shoulder for her to lean on. "I can hear you, even if you can't hear yourself. A plane's on its way to evac us out of here, but you'll have to hold tight until they get here."

"I'm fine," Bobbi insisted, pushing away from his shoulder and taking a shaky step forward. The next was less shaky.

Mack caught her attention again with a hand on her arm and said something she didn't quite catch.

"What?!"

"See, you're not fine," he shouted back. "Medical will be here soon. Let's find you somewhere to sit." He pointed to the curb, giving her a stern look until she dropped down on it. "Stay here; I'm going to see if they need more help."

"Okay." She watched him walk away, the ringing getting impossibly louder. Her eyes slid to the smoking remains of her husband's car. Oh, Hunter was going to kill her.

* * *

"Hey," her husband greeted her brightly at the door. "I filled your tank!"

"Good, thanks," Bobbi replied, eyeing him uncertainly.

He frowned as she walked inside. "Wait, why are you coming on the front door? Did you get a ride here from someone else? Where's my car?"

"Lance, there was an accident..." she began apologetically.

"Bob, _where in the bloody hell is my car?!_ "

"It kind of...exploded," she admitted, waiting with an inner cringe for the fallout.

"Exploded? _Kind of?_ " Hunter demanded. "How?"

"Some men planted explosives in it," Bobbi told him. "I was responding to an attack on a base near here. The place was in flames. When I approached the car, it exploded right in front of me."

"You're buying me a new car," Hunter swore. "No, _S.H.I.E.L.D.'s_ buying me a new car."

"There will probably be some form of reimbursement," Bobbi assured him.

"It won't be the same," he said. "That car was vintage. Rare. I won't be able to get another one very easily!"

Bobbi resisted the urge to mutter, "Good," under her breath. "The thing was on its last legs anyway, Lance—they probably won't give you that much for it. Buy something practical this time."

He pulled her keys off the rack, pushing past her and out into the garage. "I'm coming back with a Tesla!" he warned. "Or a Porsche. Or a Mercedes!"

Bobbi rolled her eyes, wiping a bit of grime off her forehead with the back of her hand. "Wait—Hunter!" She ran for the door. "What are you going to do with my car?!" She was met with the last few seconds of the garage door closing and ran for the front door instead, shouting after him into the street. "This is not the time for eye-for-an-eye, Hunter!"

When Hunter did return, it was not with a Tesla. Or a Porsche, or a Mercedes. It was with a regular car. Not a hybrid or an electric, but Bobbi supposed that would have been too much to ask for.

He left her car parked at the dealership, ten miles away.

She knew better than to complain.


	17. Operation: A.N.N.I.V.E.R.S.A.R.Y.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Loop" Part V

Bobbi suddenly sat up in bed, sweating and panicked, her eyes darting around the dark room. Something moved beside her and she instantly reacted, sending a kick towards the individual near her. The unknown went flying off the bed onto the floor.

"What the fuck?!" Hunter grunted, jumping up.

"Lance?" Bobbi questioned, her surroundings coming into focus a bit more, even though she could barely see in the darkness.

"Are we under attack…do I need to get dressed?" Hunter asked, obviously still dazed from literally being kicked out of the bed in the middle of the night.

"No… No…" Bobbi replied quietly, taking a few deep breaths. Suddenly the light blinded her, and her eyes slowly readjusted as Hunter slid back into bed beside her.

"Nightmare?" he asked, pulling her into his arms.

Bobbi took another steadying breath, nearly calm now, but still shaken enough to appreciate being snuggled up against Hunter. She snaked her arms around his waist, immediately tightening them when he released her with one arm and turned the lamp off. She relaxed when his arm returned and began absentmindedly stroking her hair.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Hunter asked, his voice at its softest.

"No," Bobbi replied, shaking her head against his chest slightly. She felt his lips against her forehead and responded by placing a small kiss on his chest. Before Hunter she could never fall back to sleep after a nightmare and would spend the rest of the night working or pacing. Now, however, she found herself slowly drifting back off to sleep mere minutes after one. She felt safe.

And she could never thank him enough for it.

* * *

"You know what I realized?" Hunter asked casually, his arm laying across her stomach as he held her against his chest with one of her movies playing in the background. "You spend more time with Clint than me."

"Here we go again," Bobbi said, well aware of Hunter's opinion of her partner but unable to figure out why he was choosing to ruin a perfectly good evening.

"I was only saying," Hunter said with almost a pout to his voice.

"I'm not cheating on you with Clint," Bobbi replied, bored.

"What? I've never said that…or is that your way of confessing?" Hunter questioned, surprised and annoyed at her tone.

Bobbi just rolled her eyes.

* * *

Bobbi wrinkled her nose at an awful smell as she started to wake up. She rolled over, her arm going out to find Hunter and wake him to ask about the smell. However, she was met with damp, empty sheets. She opened her eyes, looking at the sheets in confusion; if he had had a nightmare bad enough to sweat that much, why didn't he just wake her up and tell her so? She sat up to try to find him when she heard the sound of somebody in the bathroom—the sound of throwing up. She immediately slid out of bed and made her way there. "Lance?"

"Go back to bed, Bob. I'm okay," he said after a few moments of silence, and she entered the bathroom to the sight of him leaning over the toilet bowl.

Bobbi placed a hand on his back, feeling the heat radiating off him, and her other hand flew to check his head. "You're burning up," she stated.

"I don't want you to get sick; go back to bed," Hunter insisted, barely getting the words out before his body stiffened with another wave of nausea.

Bobbi ignored him, turning to the sink and soaking a small towel with cold water. She wrung it out before dabbing his forehead, the side of his face, and his neck in an attempt to cool him down. As she continued to press the cloth against his head, she leaned over and filled up a cup, which for once she was thankful was sitting there instead of in the dishwasher where it belonged. Hunter flushed the toilet in the hopes that he was done. "Drink this," Bobbi ordered softly, holding the cup of cold water out to him.

Hunter graciously accepted the cup, drinking in small sips, his body relaxing slightly. "Thanks," he muttered, closing his eyes.

"Wait here," Bobbi ordered, leaving the towel draped over his shoulder and rubbing his back for a moment before walking out of the bathroom. She gathered a trash can and a mixing bowl, the former in case he needed to throw up again and the latter full of cold water with which they could refresh his cloth. She placed them on the nightstand on his side of the bed and added a cold bottle of water as an afterthought before returning to the bathroom. She was glad that it appeared Hunter had stopped throwing up. "Come on, let's get you back to bed."

Hunter looked at her before nodding in agreement and slowly standing up. He allowed her to lead him back to the bed and laid down on it carefully.

Bobbi soaked the cloth again and applied it over his head, face, neck, and upper chest.

"Bob, I'm fine," Hunter insisted once more, taking her hands in his hot one and halting her movements. "You don't have to take care of me."

Bobbi looked down at him, meeting his eyes and removing her right hand from his grip and caressing his face with it. "Just get some sleep." Hunter nodded, not releasing her left as he allowed himself to fall back into a fitful slumber.

Bobbi watched him for a while and when she knew he was asleep she extricated herself and went for the S.H.I.E.L.D.-issued first aid kit. She was glad the normal oral thermometers had recently been replaced with a swipe-across-the-forehead version. She pulled it from its plastic packaging as quietly as she could and moved it across the left side of his head as gently as she could. The digital display blinked back at her: 104 degrees. She picked up her phone just in time to keep her alarm from going off and called Hill. "Hey Maria, can you contact Agent Oliver and cover for me today?"

"What's going on?" Hill asked.

"La—Hunter is ill and…"

"Say no more. I'll sort that out for you, but if something comes up…"

"I know, just give me a call."

"I will."

"Thanks, bye."

* * *

Bobbi hurried to get dressed, haphazardly pulling on her work clothing. "If anybody asks, you held me up," she informed Hunter.

"I am not the one who woke up horny—for once. You're the one who ignored your alarms, texts and calls," Hunter pointed out as he took a gulp of water.

"I didn't say it was your fault; I said I was going to blame you," Bobbi told him, rolling her eyes.

"I would be happy to call Barton and let him know that you are running late to work because _I_ initiated a make-out session that lasted forty-five minutes and involved absolutely no clothing," Hunter replied, a smirk plastered on his smug face.

Bobbi picked up the nearest object to her, which was a clock, and threw it directly at his head. She smiled disarmingly at him when he managed to dodge the flying projectile and looked at her with wide eyes. "Bye sweetie, see you later!" she called mockingly before grabbing her go-bag and literally running out the door.

"You're a mad woman!" Hunter called after her, just before the door shut. "Gonna be the death of—"

* * *

"I understand, sir. I'll have the report written by the end of tonight," Bobbi said as she walked into towards the bedroom door. "Yes, sir… I smell burning," she stated suddenly, looking around. "Sir, I have to call you back, but I will finish that report and get it to you by midnight." She hung up and rushed into the kitchen to find Hunter with mess all around him. "HUNTER?!"

Hunter literally spun around instantly. "Bobbi! Umm… I can explain!" he said, hastily turning off the stove. He spun back around to face her, seeing the tapping of her foot, crossed arms, and scowl. "It's been exactly two years since I proposed—that does make it an anniversary, right?" he asked, unsure. "If not, I'll just give you the gift in a few months at our wedding anniversary…"

"You were trying to give me the gift of a new house after burning our old one down?"

"What? No... No! Me making you dinner isn't the gift. That would be an awful present," Hunter admitted with a shake of his head. "It's in the box." He pointed to the item in question, large enough sitting on the counter that she didn't know how she'd missed it when she came into the room originally. Oh, wait, that was right—she'd been a little preoccupied with the fear that the house was on fire.

She cautiously approached him. "What is it?"

"So...this _is_ an anniversary?" he questioned, looking relieved, probably over finally remembering one on time.

"It's a bit late now if it isn't; you've already piqued my curiosity," Bobbi said.

Hunter laughed. "Open it," he encouraged. "I can assure you; it's not my cooking."

"Good, because from past experience a box of this size holds more of your cooking than my stomach can handle," Bobbi teased, taking it from him.

Hunter laughed again. "If it makes you feel better, your good friend and partner helped me out with it. So I'm sure you'll like it... Just don't use it against me," he almost begged.

She weighed it in her hands curiously, rocking it from side to side a little. The box was at least two feet long—maybe two and a half—but not proportionally very wide or deep. "Is it a weapon?"

"Just open it, Bob," Hunter insisted.

Bobbi placed it back on the counter and began to untie the red ribbon on top, setting it aside. She glanced at Hunter, who was watching her eagerly, before slipping her fingernails underneath and lifting the lid. She peeked underneath, then turned to Hunter and cocked her head.

Hunter leaned forward against the counter, shifting closer to her. "Do you like it…?" he questioned hesitantly.

Nestled in the box were two very familiar metal poles. "...They're my staves," she said. "Aren't they?"

"Actually…they're a near replica of your staves. But these ones are owned by you, not S.H.I.E.L.D. if you ever needed them for something non-sanctioned. And there is a little bonus feature. So yes, they'll hurt when you whack somebody with them and they'll electrocute them and everything like yours do now, but there's something else…" Hunter said, stopping and looking at her intently.

Bobbi waited, but when he didn't elaborate, asked, "So, are you going to tell me about this new feature or am I supposed to figure it out by using them on you?"

Hunter cleared his throat and stepped back slightly. "Suddenly regretting this present. Knives come out of the front ends—so you can also stab people. Seemed like a good idea at the time… I am never going to Barton for advice again," he finished.

"It's perfect," she told him, taking a step over to him for a kiss.

Hunter seemed to make sure she wasn't holding the staves before pulling her towards him. "So…you're not mad at me for messing up the kitchen again?" he asked, kissing her lips briefly before she could respond as further incentive to forgive him.

"You mess up the kitchen a lot; I'm used to it," Bobbi replied with a smile.

Hunter grinned. "Oh, and two more _little_ things," he added, guilt painted all over his face.

"You'd better hurry up and tell me before the post-gift mood wears off…" Bobbi warned him. She was teasing. Mostly. It depended on what he had done.

Hunter nodded quickly. "In that case...there is another gift, but I'll give it to you after. Secondly, there are some guests coming over for dinner—they'll be here in ten minutes."

"Who are these guests?" Bobbi asked, narrowing her eyes. "And oh my God, Hunter, TEN MINUTES?" She gestured wildly around at the kitchen. "Did the idea of not looking like we're both absolute _slobs_ ever occur to you?! Is this payback for what happened to your car?"

"I tried to cook for you all!" Hunter defended before relenting, "I'll go grab some take-out—you can…"

Bobbi made a scoffing noise deep in her throat. "Nice try, Mister. _You_ are going to stay right here and clean this mess up. _I'll_ get the take-out. How many people should I be buying for?"

Hunter counted on his fingers. "Uh… Us two… Four… Six… Eight… Eleven. No, wait, twelve," he said, avoiding eye contact.

Bobbi sighed. "Great." She grabbed her keys off the rack. "Anyone have a problem with pizza and Chinese food?"

"Not on my side of the family... How about your parents?" Hunter asked her.

"So it _is_ family," Bobbi pounced. "I suppose that's marginally better than Coulson, Fury, or Hill discovering what a pigsty we live in. Your mum and sisters should at least be used to it." She opened the door to head out to the car. "Either way—spick and span when I get back, got it? And if they arrive before I do...entertain." She stopped. "Wait, twelve people? That means the twins are coming too, doesn't it? Okay, first order of business after the kitchen is hide all the valuables, breakables, and things that explode, shoot, cut, slice, or nick."

"I've already done that, Bob. I knew they were coming, remember. It's just the mess in the kitchen. Now go, I'm surprised they're not here already. Their flight into LAX was supposed to arrive at three." He paused, watching her pull her coat off the rack. "Now do I get a kiss goodbye?" he asked cheekily.

She gave him a quick peck, pointing behind him at the gift. "You missed one." The door shut decisively behind her. Bobbi got into her car and opened the glovebox to pull out the pouch of spare cash and fake driver's license in case of emergencies, having left in too much of a hurry to remember her purse. She paused, looking at the time and considering. Then she pulled out her phone and made a call.

"Mackenzie."

"Code Blue," she said.

Mack sighed on the other end of the line. "Which one is that again, exactly? Is Blue the one where Hunter burned the house down or the one where he got in over his head in a bar fight and needs someone hulking disguised as law enforcement to come bail him out?"

"Neither," Bobbi replied. "Yellow's burned-the-house-down, and we almost had one of those too. Blue is he invited people over—family—without asking me with five minutes heads-up."

"Fun," Mack commented. "All right, where do you need me?"

"That little Chinese place we like, to-go, three chow funs, three fried rice, a couple broccoli beef, and that cod fish one with the mystery greens."

"You got it," he said.

"Thank you," Bobbi smiled. "And Mack? Don't forget the fortune cookies."


	18. Operation: D.A.D.D.Y. D.E.A.R.E.S.T.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Loop" Part VI

When Bobbi pulled up in the driveway to her house, she immediately noticed the deluge of light coming from the windows and the two rental cars parked out front. The family, or at least some of them, had already arrived.

Mack pulled up next to her in the driveway. "Thank again," Bobbi told him, greeting her friend with a hug. "Was it hard getting away from base?"

"Nah, I was just finishing up some paperwork anyway," Mack answered. "You're very welcome, Barbara. Although you do owe me one." He handed her the bags of take-out from the passenger seat. "Have fun with the family."

"Always do," Bobbi rolled her eyes. Mack got back into the car and drove away.

Upon entering the house, Bobbi was immediately assaulted by the twins, who gravitated towards her like wolves to meat and decided to smother her in friendly seven-year-old-variety hugs at the same time. The distraction almost made her miss that Hunter's mother was setting the table and his sister seemed to have just finished tidying the kitchen. Almost.

"Hello! Hello!" Michael shouted, causing Patrick to follow suit. She bent down and hugged both boys.

"So you remember me, huh?" Bobbi asked. "We haven't seen you in a while."

"Of course!" Patrick said.

"You're the aunt and uncle who suck at hide-and-seek!" Michael added.

Before Bobbi could laugh, respond, or retort, Hunter's mum was hugging her with a cry of, "There's my daughter-in-law!"

Monica jogged over to Bobbi. "Let me take those bags," she said helpfully, reaching for the Chinese food.

"There's pizza out in the car," Bobbi said quietly so that the twins wouldn't hear and become even more hyper than they already were.

"PIZZA!" Michael exploded happily, beginning to dance around the living room. Apparently she hadn't said it quietly enough. Monica laughed and headed out to the car instead, and Bobbi extracted herself from Patrick—who joined his brother in his wild dance, was it just her or was it getting awfully _Lord of the Flies_ -like in her house?—and set the bags of Chinese take-out on the counter.

"Hey Bob, we're just waiting on your parents now," Hunter said, walking out of the bedroom with his teenage niece thrown over his shoulder. Bobbi smiled incredulously at the sight.

The niece was laughing hysterically. "Put me down!"

"We'll save you!" Michael shouted as he and Patrick ran over to Hunter and leaped onto his legs.

Hunter set the niece down gently in favor of scooping up Patrick under one arm and hanging him upside down.

"Lance—Don't drop him!" Kaydee exclaimed, covering her eyes.

"My turn! My turn!" Michael demanded of Hunter, jumping up and down.

"Hi," the niece greeted Bobbi, turning away from the chaos with a smile on her face. "I don't think we've been introduced. I'm Emily."

"Bobbi," she smiled. "You're in high school, right?"

"Actually, I'm at college right now," Emily replied with a smile.

Hunter, dragging both boys with him, popped up next to them. "Remember that college doesn't mean college like it does here," he told Bobbi. "Think of it as a transitional senior year."

Emily looked at Hunter confused, obviously not knowing anything about the American schooling system. Before she could say anything, the doorbell rang. The twins took off toward it.

"No, to the table," Monica ordered them as she opened the two pizza boxes from Bobbi's trunk down on the counter. "I said _now_!" Monica called again. Disappointed, the twins trudged away from the door and into the kitchen.

"Lance, did you give her the al..." Hunter's mum started to ask before Hunter loudly cleared his throat, making her stop. "I thought you were going to give it to her this morning."

"I forgot," Hunter replied with a shrug. Bobbi delivered to him a look that clearly stated her intention to kill him if he ever mentioned to his family the real reason he probably forgot this morning.

"Again? Give it to her now then!" his mum encouraged, although Bobbi was sure Hunter didn't have a choice in the matter. That just made her all the more curious. She smiled at Hunter's mum before turning to the door and pulling it open.

"Barbara!" her mom greeted, sweeping her daughter into a hug. "How are you?"

"I'm good, Mom," Bobbi grinned. "Come on in, both of you. It's already a madhouse." She gave an equally fierce hug to her dad.

"I can see that," he laughed, taking in the sight of the twins zooming around the dining table in an effort to avoid Monica.

"Try to avoid getting trampled," Bobbi advised with a laugh.

"Susan, Joe, great seeing you again!" Joanna greeted them, a wide smile on her face before turning her attention to Bobbi. "Bobbi, how about you sit next to me, I want to show you the photos myself—Lance! The album!" Hunter's mum ordered.

Hunter slowly trudged off to the bedroom to collect said album.

"Of course," Bobbi nodded agreeably. In truth, she was quite curious to see the photos—mostly because Hunter didn't want her to, of course.

"If you two do not sit down right _now_! Or your father is taking you home and you will go straight to bed! _3...2..._ " Kaydee stopped and sat down casually as both of her boys scrambled into their seats. "Emily, pass the pizza please," she added. Emily immediately picked up one of the boxes and handed it to her aunt.

Bobbi headed into the kitchen, stopping in surprise. Hunter came out of the bedroom and halted mid-step right next to her. "Where did the extra table come from?" she whispered to him. "Do we own another one that I don't know about?"

"Mum brought it with her—don't ask," Hunter whispered in reply. "She says she likes to be prepared for everything." He showed her the now-infamous photo album. "Including memorializing every single embarrassing moment until I reached eighteen into an album."

"She brought the table on the plane?" Bobbi hissed incredulously. "How did she—?"

"I don't know—maybe she shipped it first or bought it while she was here. Literally, my two brother-in-laws walked it and set it up. Trust me, don't ask questions." He thrust the photo album into her hands. She looked down at it and saw a picture of a baby Hunter sticking his tongue out at the camera and laughed before moving to take her seat next to Joanna. Hunter's mum snatched up the photo album eagerly, opening it to the first page.

"These are some of the pictures I wanted you two to put into a slideshow for your wedding! He was such a cute baby...but he always ate like a pig from the start. Literally, whenever I would hold him, he would attack my—"

"Mum!" Hunter exclaimed, slamming the album shut. "We're eating here!"

"And that's what I'm telling Bobbi about, your old eating habits," Joanna said.

"Sorry Grandma, nobody wants to hear about how baby Uncle Lance used to eat," Emily said, pulling a face of disgust at the thought.

Hunter seemed to be trying to decide if he was just insulted or not before turning back to his mother. "Exactly, so if you could keep the conversation PG—there are children around."

Joanna sighed half-heartedly. "As you wish." she agreed, flipping the page. "This was the first time I pretended he was a girl...it was for a mother and daughter playgroup and the best in the area. Monica and Kaydee had always had so much fun at theirs when they were little..."

His sister Kaydee's face lit up at the mention of playgroup. "Lance was all for it. Even when he was seven, he would let us put makeup on him and dress him up in dresses," she added.

Hunter groaned in annoyance and embarrassment, his hand covering his eyes as he ate a slice of pizza. Bobbi could see his cheeks tinging pink from embarrassment.

"We used to call him Marie," Monica said conversationally, looking slyly at Hunter as she lifted a chop-stick's worth of chow fun to her mouth.

Bobbi raised an eyebrow at Hunter. "So that's why you told me your middle name was Marie!"

"Please, please can we talk about _anything_ else," Hunter begged, refusing to look anybody in the eye.

"Yes, let's not pick on Marie," Monica joked.

"That's enough, Monica," Joanna intervened. "Bobbi, tell me, when are you planning on having children?" Susan, Bobbi's mother, raised an eyebrow and her father Joe set down his forkful of Chinese food.

Bobbi choked, swallowing and coughing several times before she could manage to get the words out. "Sorry, what?"

"Children, darling. You've been married for a year now!" Joanna set her food down and counted it off on her fingers. "Within the ten months Kaydee had already given me two little bundles of joy and Monica gave me my first grandchild when she was sixteen. What's holding you two up? I need some more grandbabies!"

"We're, um…" Bobbi looked helplessly at Hunter, pleading at him with her eyes to not hold any of her laughter at the photo album against her. _He_ was just as much under the microscope as she was right now. Her parents looked at her curiously, as if watching and waiting to see how she would respond. Great, were _they_ about to join in the clamor for grandchildren as well?

Hunter coughed to cover up the fact he had been laughing. "Mum, is this really the time for that conversation?"

Joanna ignored her son, still looking expectantly at Bobbi. "Are you trying?" she inquired before gasping, "Oh dear child, are you not able to get pregnant? Is that why Lance always avoids the question with me?" she asked, holding a hand to her heart and looking deeply concerned and apologetic as she awaited the answer.

"I…" Bobbi glanced around the table for help. Her parents provided none, although her father's face developed a slight pink tinge. Hunter was silent as well, waiting for her response.

"Mum, _boundaries_ ," Monica reminded her, but Joanna would not be dissuaded from the question.

"Hunter and I, we both work, a lot, so we haven't decided if—when—we're going to try for kids," Bobbi said hesitantly, waiting for the fallout.

"If?" Joanna asked, her mouth dropping open.

"Mum, we're just teasing you," Hunter said, suddenly beginning to laugh. "Bobbi isn't comfortable talking about it, but we are both working and want things to settle a bit to ensure that any child or children we have grow up in a steady household." She breathed a sigh of relief. Finally a lie she could work with.

"There's no rush," Susan added, making eye contact with her daughter. Bobbi thanked her silently.

"Where _do_ you work?" Joanna asked suddenly, turning back to Bobbi. "Oh my, I've known you for three years and I've never thought to ask!"

Luckily for her Bobbi's cover was so thoroughly ingrained into her that she didn't even need to pause. "I'm a detective with the police department," she answered automatically.

Hunter leaned closer to Monica's husband as he asked him something, and then grinned widely and replied a bit louder than he expected, "Yep, she brings her handcuffs home."

"Hunter!" Bobbi exclaimed.

"Now you know where he gets his boundary-knowledge from," Kaydee said to her.

"Ew," Emily commented, pulling a face of disgust in general.

"I think now is a good time to bring this conversation to a close… I mean, the twins are both bored out of their minds," Hunter suggested, indicating to the two seven-year-olds who had their faces on the table.

"At least it means they didn't understand most of that conversation," Bobbi joked.

"I wish it could have gone over _my_ head," Emily interjected.

"Emily dear, when you're finished, could you take the boys into the living room?" Joanna asked. "Then none of you have to sit here and listen to us old folks talk."

"There're some board games and things like that in the cabinet by the TV," Bobbi told her with a smile.

"Thanks Aunt Bobbi," Emily said. "Come on, Michael, Patrick! I'll let you guys choose what you wanna play."

"Okay!" the boys shouted, leaping off their chairs and running off into the living room. Hunter got up and retrieved a bottle of wine from the cupboard and Bobbi brought out the wine glasses. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Bobbi walked into the bedroom, literally falling down on the bed face-first in a heap of exhausted limbs. "Next time, warn me if we have guests coming over," she called to Hunter, voice muffled by the blankets. She flipped over onto her back as her husband came into the room looking just as tired as she felt.

"How about we just never have guests again," he suggested, walking over to the chest of drawers.

Bobbi lifted her head to look at him properly before letting it fall back onto the pillows. She was oh-so-ready to go sleep but there was this nagging feeling that she had forgotten something. Something important. Before she could come up with it, however, her thoughts were interrupted when Hunter slid into the bed beside her, his eyes almost closed already. With the insistent tug of hands on her body, Bobbi mustered enough energy to turn and snuggle up to him. "Today was nice," she admitted.

"It was, although we still need to clean up the mess the twins made," Hunter reminded her. Bobbi filed that away as a task for tomorrow, unless one of them wanted to face-plant into the living room floor in the middle of tidying up. Plates in the dishwasher and chopsticks in the garbage was as close as they had gotten.

"I have a feeling our place will always be a mess when we have children, especially if they have as much energy as Michael and Patrick," Hunter theorized.

Bobbi's eyes widened slightly at the sudden casual mention of them having children. She knew that Hunter was practically already asleep and wasn't thinking about what he was saying, but that only made the situation more real— _he_ was saying it without anybody else dragging it out of him.

"We'd be good parents," Hunter mumbled on, "always there for them...give them love and never make them feel unwanted or abandoned. From the start to the end, we'll be there."

"Where is this coming from?" Bobbi murmured without really expecting an answer. It was like he was drunk with sleepiness.

"Mum dated a lot of random guys as I grew up, always ended in an argument..." he trailed off. "We'd never argue in front of our children, would we? We'd put any of those differences or disagreements aside—for the children."

"Of course we would," Bobbi replied with a slight smile. A new thought occurred to her. "Lance, is that what it was like with your dad?" True to form, Hunter hadn't mentioned his father once since the day he gave her the family heirloom bracelet on their honeymoon, but she had always been curious about his father. At the time she was too stunned by the gesture to question it, but the photo album Joanna had showed her today had piqued her curiosity again. The images had looked like they had been either cut or folded over to obscure a man's presence in them.

"You'll be a great mum," her husband rambled on. "I mean, mom." His lips quirked upwards at successfully reproducing the American accent with which she spoke. Bobbi laughed softly, unsure whether he had purposefully avoided answering her question or whether he was simply too tired to fully register anything she was saying. Both options were entirely plausible. "I love you," he whispered, pressing his lips to her bare shoulder.

"I love you too—" Bobbi replied reflexively, cut off as her phone began to ring. She groaned and reluctantly rolled away from Hunter to pick it up. "Yes? ...Report? Oh shi—!" she swore, rocketing into a sitting position so hard it shook the bed. She caught herself. "It's almost finished, sir, just proofreading it!"

Hunter, woken by the sudden loss of her warmth and the rocking of the bed, opened his eyes fully, gazing up at her. "What's up?"

"I was supposed to send in a report tonight... You go to sleep; I need to write it," Bobbi ordered as she stood up and headed out into the living room in search of her laptop.

* * *

Halfway through doing her report, she received a text from Monica thanking her for hosting such a pleasant evening. Bobbi hesitated, considering what she was about to do while her fingers flew over the keys, rapidly finishing her S.H.I.E.L.D. assignment. As soon as it was completed she used her left hand to send it off while she dialed Hunter's oldest sister with her right.

"Hello?" Monica answered, sounding vaguely sleepy.

"Hey, it's Bobbi," she greeted her. "I didn't mean to disturb you," she added uncertainly, realizing that it probably wasn't the best time given how late it was.

"It's fine, I'm keeping my husband awake as we drive to our hotel anyway—still have about twenty minutes or so to go," Monica replied.

Bobbi glared at Hunter through the wall for not offering to let them sleep over. "Oh, I'm sorry; you could have stayed here for the night before going."

"Lance did offer, but we're headed down to check out Disneyland while we're in California too, and we wanted to get a bit of a headstart on the drive down there."

"Oh, that makes sense. You've never been?"

"I've only been to Disneyland Paris," Monica answered. "And Emily was too little to remember that." She paused. "What can I do for you? I would have expected you to be asleep by now."

"I had some stuff for work to do," Bobbi explained. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Of course!"

"It's about Lance's father—" Bobbi started, but stopped when she heard her sharp intake of breath.

"I'd rather not talk about him," Monica admitted.

Bobbi sighed. "I figured as much; Lance refuses to talk about him too."

There was a small silence, during which Bobbi wondered if she should just abandon the question altogether. Finally, Monica spoke. "Our father is a sensitive topic in the family. He abandoned us when I was ten. Lance was only three."

Bobbi sighed slightly at the information. "Lance told me he was dead," she replied softly, wondering if he had lied to stop her from questioning him further.

"Yes, he's dead. But before he died he was a drunk, out every night, slept around—even brought women back to the house when Mum wasn't around. One day when I returned from school, he was just gone: all his stuff, no goodbye, not even a note." There was a long pause. "I guess he had commitment issues—I tracked him down and tried to see him several times in the months after he left, but he literally ignored me. Told me he wasn't my Dad anymore, slammed the door in my face. He died years later, and none of us ever talked to him again."

Bobbi remained silent, not sure what to make of this information. She had presumed that he had died when Hunter was young, not that he had left. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to pry."

"Because he was so little, Lance doesn't remember all the shitty things he did while he still lived with us. He still sees him as a good man," Monica told her. "The rest of us know better—you may not want to talk to him about it."

"Thanks, Monica," Bobbi said sincerely, recognizing how hard it still was for her to talk about.

"Don't worry about it," she told her. "You're part of the family; you should know a bit about the man who would have been your father-in-law."

"Have a safe drive," Bobbi bid her goodnight. She set the phone down on the couch next to her, closing her laptop and then her eyes for a moment before getting up and walking back to their bedroom and slid into the bed beside him. She understood a bit better what Hunter meant when he said that they'd always be there for their children.


	19. Operation: B.L.A.C.K.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Screeching Halt" Part I

Bobbi was snuggled up on the couch with a book in her hand. She had received a text from Hunter a few hours ago that he was on his way home. This time he had neglected to give her a time frame or a location where from, so she didn't know exactly when that meant. However, it had been three and a half hours, and she presumed he would have been home by now. She continued to glance toward the front entryway every few minutes in between pages.

She smiled as she heard footsteps and the jingle of somebody getting keys out of their pocket. Within a few seconds the door opened and Hunter walked in. At first glance, Bobbi knew something was wrong. The smile slid off her face.

"For somebody so smart and clever, Bob, you really do make stupid decisions," Hunter stated as soon as he saw her sitting there.

Bobbi was so thrown by the sudden and unexpected insult that it took her a moment to respond. "What does that mean?" she demanded, placing her book down and throwing the blanket off from her shoulders as she stood up.

"It means I think you are completely deluded for willingly working for an organization that doesn't give a crap about its employees," Hunter growled. "Oh, sorry— _agents_."

"Not this again, Hunter," Bobbi replied, rolling her eyes as she turned to go to bed. "Welcome home."

"Thanks," he muttered sullenly. "I'm sure that the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent I rescued would be glad to hear those words too." She stopped in her tracks, turning suddenly at his words.

"You were working for S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"Never," Hunter answered instantly. "I was doing my own mission when I came across this man, early twenties, stab wound to the leg. Obviously, I wasn't just going to leave him—he was crying, whimpering rather annoyingly so. After patching him up, I was just going to leave, because he kept insisting that his ride was on its way. _That_ is when his badge fell out of his pocket." Hunter stopped for a second, shaking his head in disbelief at the words he was about to say. "His team left him there, said that they would swing back around tomorrow morning, because it wasn't safe—he was bleeding! I'm not sure if he would've lasted the night! I thought all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had to be trained—he looked like he was pulled out of school."

"Is he okay?" Bobbi asked, frowning.

"Yeah, he's fine. I brought him back with me and called up your friend Hill," Hunter replied, "who didn't pick up, so then I called May. She took care of it. But I just cannot understand how you are willing to put your life in the hands of an organization that would leave a man behind...not extract them when they needed it. I was hoping me rescuing you was a one-time thing. It appears that I was wrong!"

"I'm sure there was a reasonable explanation, Hunter," Bobbi replied. "You just don't have the full picture. I'll talk to Maria tomorrow."

"If she'll pick up the phone," Hunter muttered angrily.

Bobbi clenched her teeth, frustrated with him and his attack on S.H.I.E.L.D., but also with S.H.I.E.L.D. for being able to be attacked in the first place though she'd never admit it. Perhaps a bad call _had_ been made, she rationalized, but that didn't give him permission to decry the whole agency as dysfunctional and evil and whatever else he thought of it. "Come to bed," she said flatly, walking away from him. "Or don't. There's pizza in the fridge."

* * *

Bobbi took out a microwave meal was literally just about to stab it with her fork to open it when her phone went off. She checked the caller ID and smiled when she saw that it was her husband calling. "Hey," she answered it.

"Hey, Bob, on my way back now—I'm about an hour drive away," he informed her.

Bobbi loved that he normally called her when he finished a mission; it made her feel better by reducing the agony of waiting. Also, it meant that she had time to prepare for him to come back. Though she couldn't always extend him the same courtesy due to the nature of her work with S.H.I.E.L.D., she was grateful that he still did despite her lapses.

She put the meal back into the cardboard box packaging and back into the freezer, deciding to order Thai instead. It wasn't often that she was home when Hunter wasn't for extended periods of time, and she was glad to hear that this wouldn't be one of them. The house just wasn't the same with just her in it.

When she got a notification that the food would be ready to be picked up in ten minutes, she drove down to the little restaurant to pick up her order. After paying, she headed back home, wondering if Hunter's time estimate could have been off enough for him to arrive before she did. Her worries were unfounded, however, because the house was dark when she returned and let herself in. No more than three minutes passed before headlights appeared outside and she heard their garage door opening. She went to the door to greet him, smiling as he got out of the car. "Hey," he said.

Such a simply greeting was enough. "I beat you picking up the Thai," she replied as he reached her and greeted her formally with a kiss. She let him follow the delicious scent inside.

"I am knackered, so food and then bed?" Hunter questioned as he pulled her to him on the chair, kissing her again.

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

"Where are you going?" Hunter asked as she readied herself by the door. "I thought you had the day off today? Cleared your schedule, so we could do that day-out-on-the-town thing later?"

"I do," Bobbi answered, putting in her earbuds. "I'm going jogging on the beach." She looked down at herself, perplexed. "Can't you tell?"

"Sorry, I haven't quite figured out what each slight variation of black, gray, white, and blue you wear means yet," Hunter said.

Bobbi raised an eyebrow. "Is that your not-so-subtle hint that you want me to wear more colorful clothing?"

"Maybe?" He caught her expression. "No, of course not. I would not dictate what you wear, oh-stylistically-superior-one."

She rolled her eyes. "Those are S.H.I.E.L.D. colors, and they're more tactical. Plus, black is slimming."

Hunter laughed. "You don't need slimming clothing, Bob. You just like feeling like a ninja."

Bobbi smiled. "You said it, not me."

"Can I come?"

"Running? On the beach?" Hunter nodded. "Are you going to nag me the entire time about my outfit and then complain about the perpetual sand stuck in between your toes when we get home?"

"Probably."

"Sure, come along," Bobbi gave a teasing sigh. Hunter launched himself off the sofa and changed into running clothes in record time, meeting her by the door.

"Ready," he announced. She opened the sliding glass door and headed outside, taking a few moments to stretch before starting off toward the beach. Hunter fell into step beside her, matching her pace easily. "Is this the first time you've done this?" he asked after a few minutes.

"Of course not, then it'd be a waste of a house on the beach," Bobbi replied.

"Then how come I've never seen you?"

"Because I usually go at night or when you're in the shower," she answered.

Hunter frowned. "My showers aren't that long. How do you even get a good workout in that way?"

"I run fast."

"Like this?" Hunter glanced around incredulously. "You could only get a mile in, max."

She looked sideways at him. "You wanna go? We can go."

"Yeah, let's go," Hunter responded, a challenge in his eyes.

"Come on." She steered them left toward the waterline, adjusting their course so that their feet were hitting the slightly more compact wet sand.

"Great, now my shoes'll get all muddy too," Hunter grumbled good-naturedly. She rolled her eyes, increasing their pace until they were nearly sprinting across the sand. Neither of them said anything more as a slight burn developed in her lungs—okay, maybe she was pushing them a little faster than their normal, but she couldn't resist a challenge—until she reached her normal turn around point. "Oh, good, I was starting to think you were crazy," Hunter said as they faced the other way, heading considerably closer to the surf this time in an effort to have an easier way back with a sturdier running platform.

She laughed. "What, are you tired?"

"No," he insisted. Both of their breathing had increased measurably, and each had a slight sheen of sweat across their foreheads. But if Hunter wasn't going to admit any sort of fatigue, she sure as hell wasn't going to either. Besides, this wasn't the hardest run she'd ever been on by a long shot. Jogging with Clint...for a guy who spent a lot of his time on missions cramped in one position waiting for the perfect shot, he was in remarkably good shape.

By mutual consent and because it was her usual routine they slowed as they neared the point on the beach that was directly across from their house. Hunter was right, some sand had clumped on their shoes, but it was nothing a good spray with the hose and a couple hours in the sun wouldn't fix. "It's starting to get warm," she commented.

"Yes, that's something that happens in summer," Hunter replied with a grin. "And as the hour approaches noon."

"Oh, shut up."

"Hey, come here a second," Hunter said, stopping completely and beckoning with his finger.

She turned to face him, frowning curiously until his lips captured hers in a kiss. After a few moments he pulled away, and she asked him with a smile, "What was that for?"

He glanced over her shoulder. "This." He took a few hurried steps backward before spinning around and sprinting up the beach. Bobbi barely had time to look behind her in confusion before a rush of cold water surged over her calves and she let out a small shriek of surprise. She glared at him as feeling slowly came back to her legs and the wave receded back into the ocean. On the upper part of the beach, Hunter was laughing his head off.

"I'm going to kill you!" she called as she took off after him, waterlogged pants slowing her down. The torrent of adrenaline flowing through her veins made up for it though, and she made it into the house—after kicking off her thoroughly sandy shoes just outside the door—just a few seconds after him. "If you set foot in that shower before me, Hunter, I swear I'll—"

"I'm not, I'm not," Hunter said, still grinning. "Seawater takes precedence over sand in between the toes. Plus if I didn't you might actually go through with that killing me thing, so…"

"You bet I would," Bobbi growled, but she was beginning to smile as well. She fought hard to keep it off her face as she moved past him toward their bathroom. When she was done, they switched places and she got dressed for their day out in her bedroom. As she reached for a pair of black pants in her closet, she paused and pulled out a pair of white denim capris instead. For a top she chose a floral pink shirt from the bottom of the drawer that her mother had given her more than ten years ago and that she hadn't worn on any day that wasn't a visit home since. She was sitting on the bed waiting for him when Hunter came out of the shower. She looked at him expectantly.

Her husband looked her up and down. "You're right, black _is_ slimming."

She punched him in the arm. Hard.


	20. Operation: S.I.E.G.E.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Screeching Halt" Part II

"Nova, this is S.H.I.E.L.D.-863. Do you copy?" Static came through, and Bobbi and Clint glanced at each other as she tightened her grip on the steering grips of the small plane. Was it possible they were too late already?

"S.H.I.E.L.D.-863, we read you," the analyst at the Nova base responded. "Please provide identity verification."

"Agent Barbara Morse, badge A58314705326."

"Agent Clint Barton, badge F17803264847," Clint said.

"We're flying the alpha team in to you, with beta and gamma twenty minutes out," Bobbi informed him.

"You are cleared to land, S.H.I.E.L.D.-863," the man said. Bobbi flipped the correct switches and pulled level to the ground as the aircraft's secondary engines kicked in, letting them coast slowly to the ground. Once the landing gear had been set, she shut everything down and took off her headset. Barton slipped his off as well and she hit the button to extend the ramp.

"Let's go," Barton told the eight S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in the back. He and Bobbi headed out first with the rest in full tactical gear following. Their mouths were set in grim lines—this wasn't the type of op they liked going on in the slightest, although it was one they would do even without the orders or pay.

They were greeted at the doors by Agent Richardson. "Barton, Morse, thanks for coming."

"Not a problem," Bobbi replied. "Has there been any more chatter while we were en route?"

"No, they've gone silent, but we believe that's because the op is underway," Richardson said, leading them inside the facility. "Nova has only been in operation for a little over two weeks, and most of our staff are researchers and analysts. Our base was supposed to be off the radar, but somehow they found us."

"And you think the intel you recently recovered from Cuba is the target?" Clint asked.

"That is our current assumption, yes," the agent answered. "There is nothing else of worth on the base. We're halfway through decrypting it, but it'll take another twelve hours before the original copy can be destroyed."

Barton turned to the squadron of agents behind them. "Go secure the server room."

"Yes, sir!" They jogged off with the heavy clinking of vests and rifles and standard-issue boots against the floor.

"Let's see what the perimeter defenses look like," Barton said as Richardson led the two of them into the conference room. It had a large table in the middle of it that was backlit and appeared to be a touchscreen. Richardson tapped to pull up blueprints of the base, going over the various motion sensors, alarms, and automatic weapons systems with them. It was woefully inadequate and ill-equipped. Clint glanced at her every so often as the man went on, and each flick of the eye they shared was acknowledgement of a mutually spotted weakness that either of them could use to break in if they so wished. By the end of it, Bobbi wanted to know who had approved these plans in the first place.

Richardson seemed to sense the general disapproval coming off the two specialists. "Again, the base was never designed to withstand a siege," he repeated. "It was supposed to be one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most top-secret bases, where we could analyze sensitive data in peace."

Bobbi pulled out her phone to receive the updates on the beta and gamma-team's progress and to make sure they hadn't gotten any new mission parameters from Fury. There was no cell signal.

"Oh, we block all wireless communications with the outside here," Richardson explained. He fished a small cable out from the underside of the table and offered it to her. "This will get you a direct line to the cellular network." She nodded her thanks and plugged it into the bottom of her phone, setting it down on the edge of the table to wait for the device to find signal again.

"I don't think we brought enough firepower," Clint said sideways to Bobbi.

Then the base alarm went off. "Guess we're about to find out," she replied grimly, pulling a gun from her belt as he strung his bow in one swift movement. The sound of heavy boots came from the hallway, and she and Barton immediately took their places on either side of the door. On his signal, Bobbi peered out. A bullet pinged off the wall next to her and she pulled her head back in. "They're shooting at us."

"No, really," Clint said as a few more glanced off the doorframe. "Did you get a sight on how many?"

"Looked to be about three, although I was a little busy making sure I didn't get my head shot off," Bobbi replied.

"Mockingbird, you're slipping," Clint teased after taking a quick peek out into the hallway. "There's only two."

Bobbi rolled her eyes. "Shut up." She pointed her gun down the corridor and fired one, two, three times. She checked again. "And now there's none," she smiled. "Come on." Together they ducked out into the hallway.

"Stay here and monitor the situation!" Clint called back to Agent Richardson. His confirmation was cut off as a few more shots went off, and her partner turned in one swift movement to put an arrow through their assailant's shoulder. Bobbi judged at least a couple more on the way from that direction from the sounds of it. "Cover my six," Clint told her. She fired off a few rounds into the wall at the end of the hall, spread just enough apart in timing that none of the enemy operatives would dare run around the corner. "You!" Clint called out, and she turned and sprinted to the defensible position Barton had chosen as he nocked an arrow and pulled back his bow.

She looked out past his shoulder and signaled for him to go. He made a break for it, and she fired off another few shots of cover fire—hitting one of the men who was stupid enough to poke his head out—and ran out of bullets. She discarded the gun on the ground as Clint took aim. She sprinted to him, apprising him of her situation before realizing they were just feet from the server room. Just then, another merc ran around the opposite corner, nearly crashing into her. She knocked the gun out of his grip with one hand and pulled a stave from her back, hitting him over the head with it. He crumpled to the floor. "In here!" she told Clint, ducking into the server room. One of the bases's analysts was already inside, pacing fretfully and waving around a small firearm. Bobbi showed him her S.H.I.E.L.D. badge before wrenching the weapon from his loose grip, setting it on the table before he could hurt someone—probably himself—with it.

"They took the intel! There was a man..." he told them as Clint appeared beside her. Bobbi swore and upon hearing slight scuffing sounds behind her whipped around, ready for another attacker. Their would-be assailant slid down the wall, an arrow poking through his body armor. Bobbi looked at her partner and smiled briefly before turning back to the analyst.

"How long ago?" she demanded.

"Umm...a few minutes?" the man replied uncertainly.

Bobbi turned to Clint. "We can still catch him."

"He went that way," the man pointed helpfully, "I think." It was as good a lead as any they had, so the two of them took off in that direction. Another one of their guys—one who actually knew his way around a gun this time—stopped them in the hallway and directed them onward.

"Agent Richardson is dead," he informed them. "He saw the man stealing the intel on the cameras and took off after him. Body's right ahead—I'm falling back to help Morgan and Taylor."

"Fine," Clint nodded, and they took off again. They stepped gingerly over Richardson's body before arriving at the access door to the outside. Bobbi scanned the surrounding area, spotting a man clad in black heading for the road over a hundred yards away. There was a black van parked there waiting for him—they didn't have long.

"There. Three feet, one hundred twenty degrees," she told Barton, using their personal location-speak. Clint pulled out an arrow without question, nocking it and lifting his scope upwards three feet from the ground and turning at the angle she directed. Another moment ticked by as he located the man with his own eyes, and he drew back the bowstring.

A black shape barreled into them both, knocking them to the ground. Bobbi regained her footing first and launched herself at their assailant, staves flying. He grabbed hold of one and twisted her arm viciously, and she tumbled past him a little ways down the hill with a shooting pain in her wrist. She picked herself up quickly and went on the attack again, making sure to move too quickly for the man to grab her weapons again without breaking a few fingers in the process. Nearby, she was aware of Clint going up on one knee again, fitting the arrow to the string and firing.

Bobbi gave a mighty shove to her attacker, forcing his weight off of her and leaping after him. She thrust one of the staves into his chest, feeling the satisfying crunch as a blade slid out of the tip of it, burying itself in his ribcage. She pulled the stave out and wiped off the blade on the man's shirt, looking around for any more unexpected attacks. It was just her and Clint.

"Did you get him?" Bobbi asked, walking over to her partner.

"Grazed only," Clint said. "Stupid arrow was bent from that guy bowling us over, and it was my last one."

Bobbi sighed. "We should still head up there, see if there's any leads left behind." Clint nodded in agreement and they started across the brown grass at a quick pace, first on a downward slope and then heading upwards again. There were tire marks on the road, but they didn't quite look like they could have been made by the van they had seen. Clint picked up the discarded arrow, which must have nicked the man before bouncing off the bulletproof windows of the SUV and falling to the ground.

"What's the likelihood this guy's DNA is in the system?" Clint asked, holding it carefully at the back end so that she could see the crimson blood that coated it without contaminating their newly found evidence.

"I hope so," Bobbi growled. "Because whoever it is, I really want to catch this bastard."

"Agreed." She and Clint made their way back to the base, where they found most of their team alive with only minor injuries. Two of their men were zipping up a body bag over Agent Richardson.

"Is there a bio lab here somewhere?" Clint asked, locating the analyst from earlier still pacing the server room in obvious distress.

"No, this isn't that kind of research facility," the man answered.

"Not even a med lab, even if it's not staffed?" he pressed.

"Nope. Just a first aid kit and band-aids."

Bobbi sighed as they walked out of the room. "Besides, we wouldn't have been able to run DNA without one of the scientists."

"You studied biology; I figured you'd be able to do it," Clint told her.

Bobbi blinked. "Yeah, the old school way, if you want it to take half a day to get any results. We might as well just fly to the nearest real base at that point."

"True." Clint bagged the evidence and stowed it in the cockpit. They waited for all of their guys to get onboard before taking off.

When they arrived at the nearest fully-equipped base, the two of them waved off the circling medical personnel and headed down to the labs. They passed the arrow off to one of the lab techs there, who informed them that the test would take a couple hours and then it would be anywhere from one to five more to run it through the database.

"Thanks," Clint sighed, leading Bobbi off to wait in an empty conference room. "Think it'll turn up anything?"

"The system's pretty extensive, but it'll only work if the guy's a previous offender, somebody we've worked with before, or a government official," Bobbi shrugged. "If we don't come back with a name, Fury is not going to be pleased."

"Thus why we're sitting here instead of heading back to report to him," Clint cracked a smile. "Although he should know—if the guy got away from us, he's pretty good. And no other agents would likely have been able to prevent this same result."

"Maybe more of them," Bobbi mused. "Three squadrons instead of one..."

He nodded. "Perhaps."

Bobbi stood up. "I'm going to call Hunter while we wait."

Her partner nodded. "Tell him I said hi," he gave a small laugh.

"Yeah, right." She reached into her pocket to find it empty. "Hold on, my phone's missing."

"Did you drop it during the attack on the base?" Clint asked with a small frown.

"No, I..." she flashed a glance at him. "In all the years we've been partners, have you ever known me to lose my phone out of my pocket in a fight? It zips for a reason, Barton."

"There was that time in Belarus..."

"Shut it." She thought a moment. "Shoot, I left it plugged into the table with Agent Richardson. I'll have to contact their new command, get him to send it back."

"Want to borrow mine?" he offered, holding it out to her. "I know how antsy Mr. Barbara Morse gets when he doesn't hear from you in a while."

"Thank you," Bobbi said sincerely after a large eye roll. "Do I have to move into the hallway or can you refrain from making fun of me if I call him in here?"

"You're not taking my phone out there, you might plug it into a table and lose mine too," Clint told her. She narrowed her eyes at him playfully but sat down again to make the call.

"Barton? Is everything all right? Is Bobbi hurt?" Hunter demanded as soon as he picked up. Bobbi smiled.

"Thanks for the concern, Hunter, but I'm fine," she told him. "I lost my phone, so I borrowed Clint's."

"Oh, right," Hunter said, an odd quality to his voice. Bobbi blamed it on a bad connection given her current location.

"Just wanted to check in while we have some downtime," Bobbi said.

"Actually, Bob, I gotta go," he said hurriedly. "See you at home."

"Love you," Bobbi said, but the line clicked dead in her hand. "That was weird," she commented to Clint as she handed the phone back to him. "He must be getting shot at right now or something."

Four hours later found them in the exact same positions when the lab tech walked in and announced that the blood had found a match. Bobbi and Clint looked at each other with matching satisfied smiles before following the tech back to her station.

"Here's everything I found on him," she told them. "Name's Lance Hunter. He's a former member of the S—"

"Hunter?" Bobbi asked in disbelief. "Are you sure?"

"The DNA was an exact match, so yes," the tech answered, seeming somewhat perplexed by the strength of her reaction. "Actually, it says here he is the husband of a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, Barbara Morse. Maybe you should contact her regarding a current location."

"I'm Agent Morse," Bobbi told the tech. "Thank you for your help." She turned and walked away, Clint following in her wake. What the hell, Hunter?

"Bobbi, what's the possibility..." Clint began apologetically. She thrust out her hand towards him.

"I need your phone," she growled.

"You can't," her partner told her. "If he has the intel, it's now a recovery op. We can't warn him we're coming."

"He's my husband."

"Doesn't matter. He should have told you about the intel when you called him earlier if he wanted to be treated differently than any other enemy combatant." He caught her eye. "If he didn't compromise the intel, he won't have to be locked up."

"Fine," she relented, reining in her anger. "Plane, now. You fly."


	21. Operation: M.E.S.S.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Screeching Halt" Part III

Bobbi's eyes narrowed as Clint parked the van on the street in front of their house. "You okay?" he asked when she didn't immediately open the door. She ignored the question and clenched her teeth, steeling herself for what might lie ahead. Then she gave a short, stiff nod and got out of the car. Clint stood behind her as she unlocked the door, hand casually ghosting over the holster to his handgun. His quiver was still empty of arrows.

She did not call out as she usually did when she came home, walking directly in to see Hunter sitting on the couch. Her eyes fell to the hard drive on the coffee table in front of him, and lying next to it her cell phone. Her gaze flicked to the bandage on his arm, where crimson blood had seeped through the bandage a bit. His eyes were red and raw indicating he had been crying—an action she had only witnessed from him twice before. He looked completely drained, wearing the same attire as he had while was infiltrating the S.H.I.E.L.D. base apart from his top half, where he had shed the body armor to reveal the black T-shirt he wore underneath. His entire outfit was dirty.

Hunter looked up at her, making eye contact without hesitation. "Are you here to take me in?" he asked. His question was clipped and to the point.

Bobbi was ready to respond; she wanted to respond. She had to respond. But it seemed her mouth and body had a different idea, and she just stood there. Silently. Emotionless.

"No, we're not," Clint answered, stepping into room further and picking up the intel. He checked it over for damage and looked at Hunter. "Did you make a copy? Did…?"

"No—I didn't. As soon as I found out Bob was there—" Hunter stopped suddenly, looking down. "No copies, I haven't even contacted my employer. I didn't know it was against S.H.I.E.L.D."

Clint nodded, even though neither of them were looking at him. "I'll keep your name out of it. We have the intel back; I guess that's all that matters."

Hunter nodded his thanks, and Clint glanced at Bobbi, who was still stony-faced and at war with herself. He left with the hard drive.

The sound of the car driving away snapped Bobbi out of her trance. "You…" she started in a hushed voice, but was immediately interrupted by Hunter.

"You could have stopped it, Bob. I practically told you my EXACT location! If you had just checked your phone… Just once. I told you where I was heading four… _four_ hours before I touched down," Hunter informed her, his voice combining a variety of emotions.

"I was a bit busy dealing with the base's impending infiltration," Bobbi told him.

"You could have prevented it!" Hunter exclaimed suddenly. "If you had just checked your stupid phone—you would have seen where I was, you could have called me…you could have worked it out and prevented this! Instead, I find out after I had shot at people and killed that guy that you were there! And not on my side! I shot at you; I could have hurt you. I didn't know it was a S.H.I.E.L.D. base," he finished miserably.

"Four agents are dead," Bobbi informed him, still standing there. "One's in the infirmary with a spine injury—she'll never walk again."

"I know."

"I'm just glad you're not," Bobbi said suddenly, relief breaking ahead off all of her other warring emotions, and she moved forward quickly to hug him.

Hunter let out a breath he had been holding, hugging her back tightly. "I'm sorry— It is my fault that a guy called M. Brennan is dead."

"Mitchell," Bobbi whispered. "His name was Mitchell. And it's not your—you didn't know."

"Doesn't change the fact that his death was my fault. Did he...did he have a family?" Hunter asked, pulling back enough to look into her eyes, the devastation evident on his face.

She avoided his gaze. "No."

Hunter went to laugh, although a sob emerged instead. "You're an awful liar," he responded, burying his head into her hair as the tears flowed down his cheeks and wet her shoulder.

"Only to you," Bobbi replied back softly. Only to Hunter when he was emotional like this. "Do you...do you really want to know?"

"No, not really—it just makes it harder," Hunter admitted with a slight shake of his head. That was one difference between them: Bobbi always wanted all of the information, and then she could deal with what she'd done head on. "I always pray for the families regardless of the knowledge I have of them—I'll send an extra one when I light the candle for him."

"I didn't know you prayed."

"The first—first person I killed was a Christian. I guess it's been a habit since then. I want to respect them and you never know if they were religious or not."

"You're a good man, Lance," Bobbi promised him. "Are you going to the church soon?"

"Yes, I always try to go within twenty-four hours of…" Hunter drifted off, his voice more controlled than it had been, but still not completely calm.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Bobbi asked softly. When he didn't answer right away, she added, "You don't have to say yes. I know this is a really personal ritual for you. But if you wanted…"

"I'm usually the one who talks too much," Hunter pointed out as he looked up at her and took her hand, interlacing their fingers. "I would love for you to come." He gave her a small, grateful smile.

"Good," Bobbi said. "Besides, you're much too emotional to drive right now anyway," she added lightly.

"I love you," Hunter told her, his voice laced with feeling.

"I love you too."

"You didn't get hurt—right?" Hunter suddenly asked, pulling back and looking over her intensely.

"No injuries," Bobbi promised before giving him a small, teasing smile. "You're not _that_ good of a shot."

Hunter laughed slightly, shaking his head. "First time I'm glad about being bad at something. Although, you didn't hit me either—makes your shooting just as bad as mine."

"Clint claims I'm out of practice with a gun," Bobbi told him. "I keep denying it. Maybe I should tell him he's right."

"Oh no. His ego is big enough as it is. We'll build a shooting room in the basement or something. Then you can throw it in his face how amazing you are after a bit of clandestine practice," Hunter replied, sounding a bit more like himself.

She smiled. "We have a crawlspace, not a basement," she reminded him. "And we probably don't want to know what might be living down there, even if we do want to practice shooting on our hands and knees."

Hunter nodded in agreement. "You're right, you're right." He looked down for a moment before holding his hands out to her. "Come to church with me."

* * *

Bobbi walked tiredly into the house, making a beeline for the kitchen. "Lance, you home?" she called. She had only been gone for just over four days, but in that time she only had about negative five hours of sleep and barely a chance to eat properly. There was no reply.

Presuming he was out because it was the middle of the day, she opened the fridge and immediately groaned. Nearly empty. Hunter had promised to do some shopping before she left. She looked around for something she could eat, she didn't even care what, even checking in the freezer to find only a quarter-full bag tater tots. Reluctantly she pulled the bag out, emptying the contents onto a tray and tossing it into the oven before setting the timer. She decided that she had enough time to shower and get all of the grime and dirt of her. As she walked into their bedroom, her eyes narrowed at the sight of Hunter sleeping on the bed, several days worth of clothing strewn around the room carelessly. "Lance… Hunter… HUNTER!" she called, getting more annoyed with every step she took approaching him.

"No need to shout, I'm up… You're back!" Hunter exclaimed, rocketing into full consciousness.

"Why didn't you go shopping?" Bobbi questioned him immediately.

"Shopping? Oh, food. I was just about to go," Hunter said as he jumped up, squinting to look at her.

"Are you hungover?" Bobbi asked, surveying the room again with distinct disapproval.

"Just had a few beers with some mates last night; I'll go grab some food," Hunter said, planting a kiss on her cheek.

"You are not getting away with this that easily," Bobbi warned him as made a beeline for the door.

Hunter stopped rushing and looked at her. "Worth a try. At least I didn't break anything this time…" he said with a laugh, before suddenly stopping. "I'm just glad you're tired."

"I won't be tired for long," Bobbi warned.

"What was I supposed to buy again?"

"I have to tell you?" Bobbi exclaimed, her jaw almost dropping at his question, "Do you ever listen to me?"

Hunter's eyes widen. "Damn it, I'll be back. I'll buy you flowers too."

"I don't—" She sighed as she heard him hurry out the door wearing the same clothes as yesterday before grabbing an outfit and jumping in the shower.

...

She was just about to use that.

* * *

Bobbi checked her phone as she packed her duffel bag, ready to head home. She rolled her eyes slightly at Hunter's text and replied with a firm, _Yes, I am coming home tonight_. He acted like a child sometimes. She slung the bag over her shoulder and closed her locker, heading out into the main hallway that would eventually lead to the parking garage. Just as she was rounding the corner, Maria Hill stepped out of Agent Oliver's office, staring down at a packet of files so intently that Bobbi almost ran into her. "Hey, Maria!" Bobbi said.

Her friend looked up with an equal amount of surprise. "Bobbi! It's good to see you."

"How've you been?" she asked. "Did your Deputy Director duties drag you all the way out here?"

"Unfortunately," Hill gave her a wry smile.

"Sorry, I'm interrupting you," Bobbi said, recognizing the signs that someone had something more important to be doing than talking. "We should catch up some other time before you head back to D.C."

"Actually, are you heading off on a mission right now?" Hill asked, worry creasing her brow. She sighed in relief when Bobbi shook her head. "Great, I need your help. One of our agents needs an emergency extraction, but all of the agents specializing in these situations are out right now. She's been compromised for over—" the Deputy Director checked her watch. "—two hours."

Bobbi opened her mouth in attempt to decline. "Actually, Maria—"

"There's a co-pilot for the jet already, name's Grant Ward, but he's only just graduated. If there was anybody else, Bobbi—it should only take an hour or so."

Bobbi sighed inwardly, unable to say no. "Fine, where do you want me?"

Three hours later, she finally walked into her house. "Lance?" she called guiltily. In her rush to extract the individual as quickly as possible, she thought she would be able to get home quickly and it wouldn't have been worth notifying him. However, the agent really made a mess of things and it took a lot longer than anybody expected. "Lance, are you here?"

Bobbi made her way into the kitchen, seeing that Hunter had nearly successfully heated up one of her homemade frozen lasagnas, only burning the edges. By the tomato sauce-smeared plate left on the table, she also knew he had eaten without her. Scanning the house to find it empty, she knew where he would have gone: the bar. Now she had two choices, wait for him to come home or go to the bar and collect him.

Since this fiasco really was her fault in the first place—or Maria's, or that agent's—and not his, she decided to go get him, apology and all. She knew he hated it when she didn't come home, and she knew he hated it because he worried—but she also knew she couldn't just leave a compromised agent out there to fend for herself.

She got back into her car after downing a few mouthfuls of lasagna—the pan was slightly warm while it was still stone cold in the middle, did Hunter realize that?—and headed for his favorite place to have a few drinks. She idly wondered if he went alone or found one of his buddies to go with him, and then started wondering where exactly he found all these "mates" to begin with. Some of them were old contacts from the SAS, she knew, but it seemed every time he went to the bar he had someone new with him. Could there really be that many Special Air Service members or ex-members running around southern California?

Bobbi parked and turned the car off, pocketing her keys before heading for the bar's entrance. A myriad of possible excuses and apologies she could make ran through her head: _Maria was there and I got caught up talking to her_ , _there was an urgent mission to save the life of a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent_ , _the base had an emergency lockdown drill that I didn't quite manage to miss,_ or perhaps the tried-and-true _I'm really sorry_ would be the best opt—

There was a crash inside the pub. "Is that all you got, you old plonker?" Hunter's voice traveled outside right before he went crashing out of the door onto the path at Bobbi's feet. He groaned. "I'll give you that one," he muttered to himself as he rubbed his wrist and looked up. Hunter gazed at her curiously while Bobbi just stood there, too shocked to say anything. "Okay, am I seeing things?" He felt the back of his head, checking for blood where he might've hit the concrete.

She found her voice. "What the hell are you doing, Hunter?"

"Ah, so you're not a hallucination," he decided, pushing himself to his feet. "Good. I mean…" He trailed off as he met her furious gaze. "...maybe not."

"Hunter?" she demanded again. There were some jeers from inside the bar, but she ignored them.

"Can't you tell? I'm having a lovely meal and evening with my wife," Hunter replied, throwing his arms open. "Wait—she would have to turn up for that to be possible!" he spat, letting his arms drop to his side.

"And so you thought going to a bar and getting into a fight was an appropriate response?"

"I didn't get into a fight," Hunter denied, before walking past her. "At least I can count on the bar being here when I need it."

"Just get in the car," Bobbi told him angrily. "And don't you dare put a finger on the driver's side door!"

Hunter spun around. "Tell me, what was it this time? An agent in danger? You got caught up? Bumped into the big man? Got lost on the way home? Lost your phone? It's always one of them, or did you come up with something more cryptic, like— _It was an emergency_. You like that one." He turned away from her again in disgust and started to walk off. "I'll walk home."

"It's eight miles in the dark, you will not," Bobbi scoffed. "Don't make me break your arms, Lance—just get in the car."

Hunter hesitated before taking another few steps and stopping again. He turned and faced her. "I walked here—eight miles—in the dark. You weren't there to care then." Having said his piece, he reluctantly headed over to her car and got into the back seat.

Bobbi rolled her eyes at his refusal to sit up front with her but climbed in anyway, flicking on the headlights with annoyance as she started the engine. "Yeah, fine—I'm sorry I didn't come home when I supposed to tonight. Happy?" she growled as they sped off down the road.

Hunter remained silent for a moment. "Oh God! Stop driving like a mad-woman! I'm gonna throw up!" he exclaimed. "And no, I'm _not_ happy!"

"Oh, shut it, Hunter! I'm not even over the speed limit!" Bobbi shouted back, applying a slight pressure to the brake but not so much that it would be noticeable from the back. "You wanted to drive, you should've thought about that before you went boozing!"

"If you didn't want me boozing, you could have at least texted me," Hunter retorted. "It's not that hard to write three words...or hell, one word. Just type 'late' and I would have understood. But no, once again, you just—" He suddenly stopped. "I really am going to throw up," he admitted in a more calm voice.

Bobbi pulled over to the curb, looking at him flatly through the rearview mirror. "Out."

Hunter didn't hesitate to jump out of her car, run to the nearest trash can and puke. He bent down for a moment, before walking back over to the car and sliding in, pulling the door closed and laying down across the seats. He made a lazy attempt to strap the seat belt over himself again. "Fine, I forgive you for not showing up," he granted before closing his eyes.

Bobbi waited a second, deciding that throwing up was enough of a punishment for his actions tonight without her unnecessarily tacking on. "And I forgive you for going to the bar," she sighed, She signaled before pulling away from the curb, continuing their drive home at a more sedate pace.

"Nothing to forgive, it was just a couple of beers," Hunter responded casually as he draped an arm over his eyes to block out the street lights.

Just a couple of beers that had led to him being thrown out the bar doors onto the pavement—yeah, sure, no harm at all in that. She took a deep breath and let it stream out through her nose, not answering. It would only inevitably lead to another argument, and she didn't particularly feel like going five rounds tonight—that either ended with things thrown or with them in bed together, and her idiot husband certainly didn't seem up for the latter.

He was silent as Bobbi parked the car in the garage—oddly, uncharacteristically silent. She unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to look back at him. Hunter was passed out in the back seat.

Watching his chest rise and fall, Bobbi considered what to do with him. After a few seconds she smiled to herself and opened her door, stepping out, stretching, and shutting it softly. He didn't stir, and she pressed the button on the keys to lock the car, tossing them up in the air once and catching them handily before turning away and heading into the house. He could always flip the manual unlock on the handle if he needed to get out, but she fancied the idea of him pulling on the handle first and having it do absolutely nothing when he finally woke up scrunched in the back seat of her car in the darkness of the garage.

If there was no harm in a a couple of beers, Bobbi decided, then there was no harm in a little righteous vindictiveness either.


	22. Operation: F.A.M.I.L.Y.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Screeching Halt" Part IV

"Hyahh!" Bobbi lifted an eyebrow at the sound as she twisted her key in the lock of their front door. "Twang! Clint's not the only one who can shoot. Take that, lowlife-drug-dealer-guy!" Bobbi frowned, wondering exactly what she was about to walk in on her husband doing. She turned the handle and stepped inside, met with the sight of Hunter standing in their living room holding a long curved object aloft. She realized what it was a second too late as he released the string and the arrow went flying.

Their front window shattered.

"Hunter!" she exclaimed.

He gave her a deer-in-the-headlights look. "Oops. I'll pay for that."

"At the very least. You could have gotten someone killed!" She strode up to him and yanked the bow out of his hands and the quiver from over his shoulder. "This is Clint's; you shouldn't even be messing with it! It's dangerous." She unstrung it expertly and set them both aside, walking up to the window to peer out of it.

"Stop being ridiculous, Bob! It was an accident," Hunter replied, guilt written all over his face but his voice remaining light.

"An accident? You shot an arrow out the window!" Bobbi retorted, getting angrier at his nonchalant attitude.

"I didn't mean to, the string slipped," he protested. "Plus, there's no screaming going on outside, so no one got hurt. No harm done!"

"Are you stupid or drunk?" Bobbi asked incredulously.

Hunter huffed. "I'm not stupid, Barbara, and I am definitely not drunk. I haven't even had a beer at all today."

"Could've fooled me," Bobbi glared at him.

Hunter rolled his eyes. "You obviously can't tell the difference then! I thought you were supposed to have been specially trained to detect things like this?" he questioned, annoyance at her accusation evident in his voice.

"No, we're just taught that both stupid and drunk make one thing: easy targets!" Bobbi shot back. "I've told you not to touch the bow before; it's for emergencies only, for Clint. It's fragile and one-of-a-kind, can you imagine what S.H.I.E.L.D. would have done to me if you'd broken it?"

"Of course! I can't touch anything Clint's! His stuff is important! More important than anything of mine—"

"Oh, get over yourself and your stupid I'm-not-as-important-to-you-as-Clint act! You and I both know that's not true," she scoffed.

"You know S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn't do anything, you're one of their best and brightest! Available day and night without fail!" Hunter continued, speaking at the same time as her. "The bow is in _our_ place, Bob. I should have the right to touch it! If he doesn't want me using it, maybe he shouldn't leave it in my house."

"The bow is in case we need to use this place as a hideout, in case things get really bad!" Bobbi exploded back.

"I don't remember to agreeing to that! Did you not think to ask me? I happen to live here too—surely that would also put _me_ in danger? I don't see S.H.I.E.L.D. offering me a safe haven if anything happens! I can't just waltz into S.H.I.E.L.D. whenever I want. There is NO WAY I am letting this place be used as part of that stupid organization!" Hunter shouted.

"Yeah, well, too bad. We live in California, and by their law what's 'yours' is half mine as well, and I say they can!"

"So that's it then? You're choosing Clint and S.H.I.E.L.D. over me again." He glared at her furiously. "I didn't realize that I was marrying S.H.I.E.L.D. as well! I may have to reconsider this whole bloody marriage!"

"Maybe you should have! It's not like anything changed since you married me; you knew exactly what you were getting into, Hunter! But no, when one little thing doesn't go your way, you're ready to fly out the door!"

Hunter laughs humorlessly. "You're the one always flying out of the door, _Morse_. Maybe I should leave, that would make you happy. You can spend your days with the obvious love of your life—S.H.I.E.L.D." He turned away from her, leaning against the counter.

"You're full of shit, Hunter. You're acting just like your father, pushing me away until you finally work up the courage to walk out the door yourself—"

"What the hell did you say?!" Hunter demanded, spinning to face her. Bobbi knew right then she'd gone too far, mentally cursing herself for letting that slip out while her brain ran a mile a minute trying to figure out how to backtrack from here. "How did you…? You went behind my back! And... I can't believe you!"

"Hunter…"

"That was _my_ secret... You had _no right_ to do that. You hypocrite! You refuse to tell me _anything_ about a large chunk of your life and expect me to tell you everything! Then, you go BEHINDMY BACK AND...was it the background check? No, that wouldn't have done it. Which means you would have had to get it from someone in the fam— _who did you even ask_? Kaydee? Monica? Did you interrogate my poor _mum_ to satisfy your unhealthy, _obsessive_ need to know everything that goes on even if it doesn't concern you? I can't even recognize you right now!" Hunter shouted, his voice changing from outrage to disappointment and disgust. He shook his head, stepping away from her and kicking the door. "Who did you ask?"

"What?"

" _Which family member did you talk to?_ " Hunter demanded, his voice dangerous. His expression was completely closed off.

"Monica," Bobbi answered finally. "You gave me the bracelet; I was curious after the photo album. And you made it pretty clear the first time you didn't want to talk about it!"

Hunter's mouth dropped open. "I gave you that bracelet two _years_ ago, and it's been almost eleven months since that family gathering! Why the bloody hell didn't you tell me?!"

"I didn't have to tell you anything, Hunter!" Bobbi retorted.

"What did she tell you?" Hunter asked, his hands in tight fists, his knuckles turning white.

"That he was a drunk and had commitment issues—sounds a _lot_ like you!" Bobbi replied, turning the fight back on him with a snarl. "I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"You don't even know what you're talking about," Hunter barely muttered, disdain clearly etched on his face. "You have absolutely _no_ idea what you are talking about. You're just trying to turn it on me to hide what you've done—you probably just came back from sleeping with Clint. Another one of your _'missions_.'"

"Really?" Bobbi demanded, the question filling the air, even though there was no possible answer to it. "I bet _you_ are the one cheating on me, just like—."

"MY FATHER WAS NOT A CHEATER! HE WAS NOT A DRUNK! DON'T YOU DARE EVER TALK ABOUT HIM AGAIN! YOU HAVE _NO_ RIGHT TO TALK ABOUT HIM, TO ASK ABOUT HIM, OR TO EVEN THINK ABOUT HIM!" Hunter screamed as his arm swooped over the side and knocking a selection of items flying in her direction.

"Oh, let's add that to the list of similarities between you two then: constantly in denial!" Bobbi shot back.

"You making up this bullshit! You're a stupid, big-headed, lying, prideful piece of work. I don't know why I married you!" He grabbed his keys from the side, kicking a chair over as he walked towards the door.

"Where are you going?!" Bobbi demanded.

"I'm leaving."

"Just adding to the similarities, Hunter," Bobbi told him nastily.

"Let's hope we add one more as well!" Hunter shouted. "That I never come back!" Hunter retorted, wrenching the door open violently and storming off. Anger still boiling in her veins, Bobbi slammed it shut behind him.

* * *

Headlights spun in a swift circle outside the broken window and Bobbi didn't move an inch from her seat on the couch as the yellow taxi cab pulled up in front of their house. She watched impassively as Hunter stumbled out of the cab, practically tripping over the curb before picking himself up and making his way up the front walk. He disappeared from her view as he approached the front door, seemingly attempting to let himself in quietly. Hunter walked in with clomping footsteps, bumping into a piece of furniture. "Sh—shhhhh!" he exclaimed to the stationary chair. God, how drunk _was_ he? Hunter swung the door closed in an obvious attempt to be quiet, failing miserably as it shut hard enough to rattle the walls. He whipped around to shush it again.

Bobbi would have laughed had any part of this situation been funny.

She watched as his eyes blearily scanned the room before he turned away, not seeing her immobile in the semi-darkness. "Hunter," she called him back.

Hunter swung around suddenly, his arms flying forward in an attempt to steady himself. "Bob! I woke you! I'm sorry!" he spluttered out, somehow managing to formulate sentences even though he could barely stand. Albeit short sentences. "I—where are you?" he asked, looking around the room, and walking into a table in his attempt to find her.

She immediately got up and hit the light switch. The sight of him under proper lighting was even more worrisome—red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes and one hand that seemed to be wracked with tremors at his side. "I'm sorry," she said, approaching him cautiously.

"No, you did nothing wrong. It was all me—I spoke to Monica," he replied, pulling out his phone. It was smashed to pieces. He discarded it onto the floor as the device slipped from his fingers. "She shouldn't have said anything to you. I mean... I don't really remember my dad; he left when I was three. Mum never told me why, and my sisters refused to talk about him." His hands came to rest on her shoulders, and even then he looked unstable.

"Hunter, if we're going to do this… I mean, I don't want you to tell me this when you're drunk," Bobbi told him softly. "We should go to bed, and you can tell me if you still want to in the morning."

"No—no, you want to know," Hunter told her, looking down, "and I know I can't tell you what my sister told you because I don't know any of it. They do." He paused but continued before she had a chance to speak. "You know...I tried to find him when I was sixteen, asked Monica for help. She told me I should just forget about him, that he didn't matter. But I needed to know...I found out without her help that he had died when I was nine. He'd started a new life or something, had another kid." He stopped speaking as he tried to control his breathing, obviously still upset about what he had found out all those years ago.

"Lance…"

"I never met them; I didn't want to meet them. I didn't even tell my sisters or Mum what I discovered. They had made it clear they didn't want to talk about him," Hunter shook his head. "I was going to drop the whole thing, never mention it again… Then when I turned eighteen, his lawyer showed up with my inheritance. Turns out he wanted to give us all family heirlooms. I got three or four things—each with a note, one of them being your bracelet. Mum and Monica and Kaydee knew, had gotten theirs. I confronted them, got into a huge fight. They had lied to me several times, kept from me that he'd cared enough to leave something...didn't even warn me. Monica kept shouting that he left and didn't even deserve a thought of ours. Mum tried to explain later on, but I had already packed—I left and joined the SAS. I needed to get away. I hated secrets and lies, always have." He laughed humorlessly. "When we made up about a year later after Kaydee got engaged, we agreed to never talk about him again."

Bobbi blinked, afraid to say anything in case she cut him off. She never would have guessed from looking at Hunter's family now that all of this had been in their past. Finally when it seemed clear he had said all he wanted to, she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close. "I'm so sorry, Lance."

"I love you, Bob. I don't want—I _can't_ lose you," he said suddenly, his hands on her shoulders as he looked directly into her eyes. "I'll do anything—I'll stop asking about S.H.I.E.L.D., I'll answer any question you have...I'll even stop playing with Clint's bow when you're not here." She gave a shaky laugh against him.

"Thank you. And I...I'll try too," she promised, but inwardly she wondered if anything really would be changed come tomorrow morning, when he was sober and all their problems were still there. And even if he held to his promise this time—he'd said things like this before, and yet they still ended up here—it wasn't like she, Bobbi, could even reciprocate in kind. Her work simply didn't allow her to.

Hunter didn't seem to notice her sudden stiffness however, or the distant look in her eyes or the tumult and uneasiness of her thoughts. He just planted a sloppy kiss on her lips before literally clinging to her in a hug.


	23. Operation: S.E.C.R.E.T.S.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Screeching Halt" Part V

The last few months had been hell. No, not hell. Hell would require something more constant, a continuous trend of destruction and unhappiness. This was almost worse—never knowing what to expect when she came home: a couple in love, or a fight brewing just beneath the surface.

And she couldn't even say it was entirely his fault.

Bobbi pulled the keys from her pocket and inserted them into the lock, opening the door cautiously. "Lance?" she called.

"Just banging my head against the wall in the bathroom," Hunter called back, probably at some attempt to be humorous.

"Not funny, Hunter," she growled, dropping her bag to the side. "You know I don't like it when you say stupid things like that."

"I'll add that to the list of things you don't like about me then," he called back.

"Hunter, that's not what I..." she sighed, entering their bedroom.

He acknowledged her with a look from the bathroom and stepped out through the open door. Hunter glanced unapologetically at the oil marks around the room and the car battery he had carelessly dumped on the bed. "I was helping a mate out with his car…"

"I can see that," Bobbi said, trying to maintain a neutral tone. It was impossible to tell if Hunter was just careless or whether he'd done it specifically to aggravate her. "Is this _mate_ going to help you clean up?"

"No," Hunter replied as he stepped past her and picked up the battery with his freshly cleaned hands. He looked around for a place to put it, then looked at Bobbi for a second before shrugging and placing it back down on the bed. "The sheets were dirty anyway. He had to go."

"Try the garage," Bobbi said, pointing to the battery. "And have fun doing the laundry, then...make sure you spray the oil spots first."

He scoffed. "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind." Hunter shook his head before picking up the car battery and shifting past her. He stopped suddenly, turning back around. "Wait… isn't it _your_ turn to do the laundry? Remember to spray the oil stain," he mimicked.

Her hands found their way to her hips. "I'm not doing the hour of extra work it's going to take to get those spots out. You made the mess, you clean it up."

"What's mine is yours and yours is mine, so this mess is _ours_. It's your turn; you do it. If you don't like that, divorce me." Hunter muttered to her before heading towards the garage with the battery.

"I should, if you keep up that attitude," Bobbi shot back at his retreating form. She looked around, then started pulling the sheets off the bed and throwing them in a corner.

So, it turned out to be one of the fight-brewing-beneath-the-surface-days. Good to know.

* * *

Bobbi checked her phone again, trying one last time to contact Hunter. He didn't answer. She had no clue where he was, much less whether he was on a mission or not. All she knew was he wasn't answering her texts or calls. She put her phone down and decided that she had to go sleep; she had work in the morning.

A couple of hours later, she was awoken by the sound of the doorknob being abused by somebody trying desperately to get inside the house. She immediately jumped up, alert, and picked up her staves before heading for the door. Confusion and then realization set in at the same time when she realized it sounded like somebody was attempting to use a key. It must be Hunter. She opened the door, still cautious, which caused a very drunk Hunter to fall in, the keys still in his hand.

"Bobbi!" Hunter said slurring his words as he looked up at her from the floor.

"Found him at a bar, drunk out of his mind," Mack informed her. "Apparently he'd been there all day."

Bobbi sighed and glanced down at Hunter before looking at Mack. "Thanks."

"Need me to help move him to the couch?" Mack offered.

"No, no. I've got him. Thanks," Bobbi replied, reaching down and lugging Hunter up to his feet. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

Mack stood there, obviously not wanting to leave. Bobbi wasn't sure why he thought she couldn't handle it. "He got into a fight, tried hitting me too," he informed her.

Hunter allowed Bobbi to pull him up, instantly wrapping his arms around her. "You bed?" he asked, obviously not getting out what he intended.

Bobbi held him up, knowing that if she let go, he was fall straight back down. "Seriously, Mack. He's not going to hurt me, I've got this," she said, moving Hunter away from the door enough so she could close it. "Thanks again."

"You're welcome, Barbara," her friend replied sympathetically. She closed the door and then looked at her husband, sighing again before leading him to their bedroom.

* * *

She was greeted at the door with a hug, which was a first in a while. "You're back," Hunter said happily.

Bobbi nodded. "I am." He swooped in for a kiss before she was ready, catching her by surprise. When he stepped back, it was with an expression of confusion.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, why?" Bobbi asked, blinking. Shit.

Hunter sighed and looked down. "You're still angry at me. I thought we could just go back to normal, like we do. But—" He stepped back.

"I'm not angry at you," she told him truthfully. "Honestly, Hunter—I don't even remember what our last fight was about." Lie. "It's been over a week. We're good. Okay?"

Hunter nodded but his expression remained one of confusion. "Okay… I'm guessing your mission went badly then. Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, a bit of concern entering his eyes.

"No, it was...fine," Bobbi insisted. She smiled. "I'm fine, Hunter. Not even a scratch."

Hunter's hands quickly ran down her arms, his eyes darting over her body to check her claim. "That's good. So...I suppose my breath stinks then?" he asked.

"What are you talking about?" she questioned, heart rate picking up in her chest. "Of course it doesn't."

"You've never kissed me like that before… if I can call that as a kiss, anyway," Hunter observed.

"What? I don't know what you're…" she trailed off, lowering her head and ducking past. "Would you excuse me? I just...I have to shower." Bobbi didn't wait for an answer, just disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door.

Under the warm spray, she tried to think of what she could tell him. This had never happened before… Well, _that_ had happened before, several times, but she'd always been able to shower, to wash it off before she saw him again. She should've known her luck would run out sometime. Bobbi inwardly berated herself for coming home like this, for not taking the necessary precautions—not waiting longer and giving herself time to get her head on straight. For caring about him so much that she couldn't kiss him properly when she arrived.

It was just a kiss for God's sake. There was no way he could have known, if _she_ hadn't screwed it up. Had this been a S.H.I.E.L.D. op, Bobbi would have just failed it. Big time.

When she could no longer hide in the shower under the pretense of getting clean, she stepped out and dressed in the same outfit she'd come home in, having forgotten to pull a new one out of the drawer in her haste. Sucking in a deep breath, she opened the door.

Hunter was perched on the bed waiting for her. "Do you feel better?" he asked.

"Not really," she admitted, walking up to the closet and absentmindedly thumbing through the hanging outfits she found there.

"What happened? Did you have to sleep with a target to get the intel?" Hunter asked with a miserable excuse for a laugh.

She flinched, still facing the closet. "I wouldn't."

Hunter was silent for a long moment as he looked at her. "Did you sleep with somebody else?"

She turned to look him in the eye. " _No_." Finding herself unable to hold his gaze, she once again sought refuge of staring into the depths of the closet. "I kissed him."

Hunter let out a long breath, his eyes darting away from her. "You kissed him," he repeated quickly. "I don't suppose you'd tell me why."

"It was part of a mission," Bobbi replied.

"Has it ever been part of a mission before?" Hunter asked her.

This time she met his gaze squarely. "Yes."

Hunter was the one to look away, staring at their bedroom carpet. "How many times has it been part of your mission while we've been together...while we've been _married_?"

"I haven't been counting, Hunter," Bobbi replied honestly.

Hunter sighed. "So it's a normal occurrence for you to kiss other men...or women...while on an op. I find that to be on the same level as _cheating_ , Bobbi."

"A kiss doesn't mean anything, Hunter," Bobbi shook her head. "I'm sorry you had to find out like this...I guess I just assumed you knew, took it for granted with my job. Usually I shower first—I've made it sort of my ritual, I guess you could say—but today you caught me by surprise, and…" She shrugged helplessly. "I promise you it didn't mean anything, Lance."

Hunter took a shaky breath. "Sure, because a kiss on a mission can never mean anything, right?" He stood up from the bed. "I need to wash out my mouth—it's like I can taste the other guy."

"I didn't sleep with him," Bobbi pointed out with a touch of anger. "I didn't make plans for another date with him; I didn't get flowers dropped off on my doorstep from him. And I didn't go to the beach or buy a house or get married to him or sit in church with him or share my nightmares—those are all things we did together, Hunter. Things I've done with no one but _you_."

Hunter rested a hand on her shoulder. "I'm not angry or anything, Bob. I'm just disappointed. I thought S.H.I.E.L.D. was more classy than forcing their agents to make out with targets for information. I'd expect that from, well...people that aren't you." He let his hand drop and took a step back. "I do really need to wash out my mouth, though. I only want _your_ saliva." He turned and began to walk towards the bathroom.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't _force_ me to do anything," she called after him, immediately regretting the words as soon as they came out of her mouth. Now was _not_ the time to be rushing to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s defense, Barbara. Especially while throwing yourself under the bus.

Hunter's head poked out of the bathroom, "Do you want to try that again?" he asked, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.

Bobbi paused, finding she had nothing. "Don't bring S.H.I.E.L.D. into this. I'm not their puppet, Hunter, whatever you might think."

He reappeared a minute later. "The only way I am dealing with the knowledge that you've been kissing other men is knowing that it was for S.H.I.E.L.D.… If you want me to disregard that piece of information, now is the time to say." He crossed his arms, waiting, his eyes challenging her to say something.

"It was for S.H.I.E.L.D.," Bobbi told him finally, "but it was also my choice. Deal with that how you will."

"You want me to deal?" Hunter asked. "Well, I don't want to. I want to forget about it. Because otherwise, I'd be walking straight into the nearest bar to get the image of you kissing another guy out of my head." He gave her a hard stare. "And I don't think after everything you've done you can really argue with me for asking you to drop it."

"No," Bobbi swallowed. "I can't. It's dropped. ...Thanks, Lance."

"Don't mention it," he replied stiffly. "Now, you just got home, so you probably want something to eat…"

* * *

"No, Mom, I told you yesterday—this isn't a good time," Bobbi repeated impatiently, looking distractedly through the glass at the meeting she was now thirty-five minutes late for. Granted, most of that was because of the mission she and Barton had just gotten back from and not this phone call—the third in two days, with the second almost wrecking her cover and getting them both killed—but still. It looked like they were wrapping up.

"But honey, doesn't this sound perfect? And really, it's a once-in-a-lifetime oppor—"

"MOM," she nearly shouted into the phone. "I have to go. Please drop it; there's no way Hunter and I can make it. Really. I have to go."

Her mother made a half-disapproving, half-disappointed noise, but Bobbi cut her off by hitting the 'end call' button. She turned back to the door to the meeting room only to see the other agents filing out of it.

"What'd I miss?" she sighed, joining Clint as he came out.

"Of the last five minutes? Nothing important," her partner answered. "Other than that, I can't answer, because I was on the plane with you."

"Right," Bobbi muttered, shaking her head to clear the fog in her brain. "Was Fury mad?"

"Hard to tell, with only one eye visible…" Clint joked, then caught her expression. "You're not getting fired over it. Good enough?" Bobbi grunted. "I'm going to go head down to see how Romanoff's getting on," he told her. "I don't suppose you want to join?"

"No, I have to get home so Hunter can't accuse me of fraternizing too long with one of my marks."

Barton frowned. "Translation?"

"He found out about me kissing Gustav on last week's op," Bobbi sighed.

"So?" Clint's eyes flicked over her face, his own taking on an expression of dawning realization mixed with dismay. "He didn't know about that part of your job...at all?"

"Well it wasn't exactly something easy to bring up in conversation," she spat back, eyes flashing. " _Hunter, just so you know, I kiss other guys on ops! Okay, goodnight, honey._ "

"You call him ' _honey_ '?" Clint asked with a smirk that abruptly disappeared at her murderous expression. "Sorry, but—don't take it out on me. You're right; you should get home."

"Thank you," Bobbi growled, spinning around and heading to the exit. She turned at the last second. "And I do NOT call him 'honey'!"

It was probably lucky for Clint that she couldn't see his expression at that moment. The drive home helped clear her mind a bit, but also returned it to thinking about this inane proposal of her mother's. Even if she had that many vacation days saved up—she did—and even if Hunter's job allowed him time off whenever he wanted—also true—they couldn't just get up and go out of blue, and they didn't want to either. And why _there_ of all places…

She shook her head. Impossible.

After parking in the garage, she headed into the house ready for a shower and perhaps a nap, if there was time. However, the sight of Hunter sitting on the couch with the unfocused gaze of one who had just been spun through the dryer with the laundry stopped her in her tracks.

"Hey," she greeted him. "I'm home."

He jumped, eyes suddenly focusing on her face. "We're going to Arizona? Why the hell are we taking a road trip to Arizona, Bob?"

"What?" Bobbi asked, staring at him in confusion. "Wait, you haven't been talking to my mom, have you?"

"Just got off the phone with her," Hunter said. "She and your dad are flying out to LAX on a last minute flight tonight, and they want us to rent a van…"

"But you told her no, right?" Bobbi questioned, dropping her bag on the floor and hearing her staves clink together as it hit the ground. "You told her we were busy or we didn't want to or something? Hunter?"

"She said you agreed to it!" he said loudly. "She said you were all for it but just had to check my calendar and that you both really hoped I'd be free and—and I told her we'd be delighted!"

Bobbi let out something akin to the snort of an angry rabbit as she sank down on the couch. "I never said any such thing! I told her very specifically, no. And Hunter, how could you think this was a good idea? You know what it's been like around here lately; you thought it'd be a good idea to trap ourselves in a six foot space with my parents for days on end—?"

"No, I obviously didn't think it was a good idea!" Hunter shouted back. "I thought you did, as some sort of weird couples therapy shit even though you know I don't go for that kind of thing—"

"Yeah, neither do I!" Bobbi yelled back, the volume of it making her already almost shot voice crack halfway through. It was the wake up call they both needed to realize they had spiraled into a full-blown argument.

"We just have to call her back and tell her we can't go after all," Bobbi said suddenly in a more normal tone, jumping up to reach for the phone.

"I don't think we can," Hunter replied, sounding slightly strangled. "They already bought tickets and everything, because I gave the go-ahead… I think we have to go, Bob."

"You realize how crazy that is, right?" Bobbi asked. "We can't even seem to spend mornings and nights together without biting each other's heads off, you want to take a vacation? With my _parents_?"

"I don't _want_ to," Hunter spat. "I just think it's too late now. We back out, they'll be suspicious. And the last thing our marriage needs is your parents poking around in it!"

She pulled her legs up to her chest, feeling the beginnings of tears prick her eyes for absolutely no reason. "This better not be as painful as I think it's going to be."

"I think it's going to be exactly that painful," Hunter growled, sprawling out on the couch next to her. "If not so much more. A bloody picnic, that's what this'll be."

* * *

_Diiiiing-donnnng_. Bobbi opened the door. "We're here!" Her mom announced happily, sweeping Bobbi into a huge hug. "Oh Barbara, I'm so glad you finally agreed to do this and made time in your schedules. I know we're all going to have a wonderful time together, I just know it."

"Yeah, Mom," Bobbi said, forcing a smile. "Totally agreed to this. Yep."

"What was that, dear?" Susan asked innocently as she moved forward to greet Hunter just as warmly.

"Nothing, just excited," Bobbi replied dutifully, hugging her father next. For a moment she hoped he would see through her facade, agree, and call this whole thing off, but to her dismay he looked almost as happy about this as his wife.

"I see the van's parked outside," her father said as he clapped Hunter on the back. "How much was it for the week?" He pulled out his wallet.

"Oh, don't worry about it," Hunter started to say as Joe pulled out a wad of bills.

"No, no, we remember what the first few years of marriage are like financially," Susan smiled. "We don't want you two to have to go through any trouble because of our little trip, not with you two already using vacation days at work!"

Feeling it was better to just accept it and keep her mouth shut, Bobbi gestured for Hunter to accept the money. Her parents had no idea just how well both of their jobs paid—and if she had her way, they would never find out.

"Are you both ready to go?" her mother asked brightly.

"Mostly," Bobbi said truthfully. "Just a few more things to add and then all the bags need to be put into the car."

"I'll start on that," Joe said promptly.

"I'll help," Hunter said, reaching for one of their bags.

"I got it," Joe replied with a friendly smile. "Go help Susan and Bobbi so we can get this show on the road."

Bobbi handed one of their bags to Hunter, reminding him that their sunscreen had yet to be added. Luckily their weapons had been stowed already, so there would be no odd questions regarding why the two of them would be carrying a small arsenal along with them to Arizona.

Although, if asked, the agreed-upon answer was always "zombie apocalypse" and leave it at that.

"So, why Arizona?" Hunter asked Susan as she helped him pack some metal water bottles and Bobbi headed into the bedroom.

"Barbara didn't tell you?" Susan asked, sounding astonished.

"I never got the chance!" Bobbi called back to them.

"Joe and I took a road trip like this when we were dating," Susan informed him. "Her father and I liked each other very much, but he told me later that it wasn't until he'd spent a week in the same car as me that he knew he wanted to marry me. I kept pushing Barbara to do the same thing with you when the two of you were dating—"

"Because it's hogwash," Bobbi muttered under her breath.

"—but she always claimed you were too busy. When I saw the national parks were doing a free admission week, just like what caused Joe and I to go, well, I couldn't resist calling you up. Especially as it's both of our anniversaries!"

Bobbi stopped cold. It was her parents' anniversary? Shit. Chances of there being a blank card in this house that she could quickly fill out were nil to none too. Double shit. But wait—it wasn't her and Hunter's anniversary… That wasn't for another six months.

"It's not our anniversary, Mom," Bobbi emerged from the bedroom. "That was a while ago, we invited you over for dinner, remember?"

"It's your year-and-a-half anniversary," Susan replied with a smile.

"That's a thing?"

"Yes, dear," her mother said with a laugh as she turned back to Hunter. He stared blankly back at Bobbi over her shoulder.

She shrugged and lugged their bags out the door and to the van, hearing Hunter ask, "So what's in Arizona?"

"Oh, the petrified trees are a must-see and the Grand Canyon is simply majestic…"

Bobbi met her father at the back of the van, hefting the bags over the lip of the trunk to join her parents'. Hunter and Susan met them at the car.

"I locked the house," Hunter held up the keys. "And...I'll take the first shift driving, I guess."

"Perfect," Joe smiled. "Susan, you want to sit in the back with Bobbi to start so you two can catch up?"

"That would be lovely, yes," her mother smiled widely. Bobbi masked her sigh as she headed for the other side of the van before realizing that maybe it was a good thing for her and Hunter to be separated for as much time as possible for this trip.

"Kind of old, isn't it?" her father was saying, looking around the van, as she climbed into her seat. "But it'll do. I brought some music along for the ride, or at least the beginning of it. Ever heard of the Eagles?" Hunter shook his head. "Well, they're one of the greats, and this is their new album," Joe told him, inserting the CD.

" _Dad…_ "

Susan swatted her leg. "No whining, Barbara. Now, tell me all about your life. We haven't talked properly in ages! How's work?"

Bobbi sighed, then launched into a false story that matched her cover as the van started up and the Eagles began blasting through the vehicle. With or without Hunter, this was going to be a _long_ road trip.

* * *

About five hours later, they crossed the border into Arizona. Fifteen minutes after that, they arrived in Yuma, Arizona, and decided it was a good town for a pit stop—and to switch drivers. "I'll go next," Susan offered immediately, leaving Bobbi and Hunter to sit in the back together.

"We should probably switch the music," her dad offered, pressing the eject button on the CD player. "What do you guys want?"

"Oh thank God," Bobbi whispered.

"I put some discs in the passenger compartment," Hunter said, but Joe wasn't listening. He pressed the eject button again with a frown. Nothing came out.

"Huh, it's not working," her dad said. He shrugged. "Sorry, I guess it is the Eagles again after all."

"Try the radio?" Bobbi asked.

"Antenna's broken, guy told me when I rented it," Hunter slouched in his seat.

" _You rented a van with a broken radio?_ " Bobbi hissed as the horrid music started up again.

" _I didn't think it'd matter!_ " he shot back quietly.

" _I've told you a million times about my dad's awful taste in music—_ "

" _It has_ not _been a million times; you've mentioned it exactly_ twice _, and I'm so_ sorry _that neither of those times popped into my head when I was renting a twenty-year-old camper van on twelve hours' notice!_ " Hunter whispered back, anger in his voice.

" _Oh so now it's my fault that my parents_ —"

"Bobbi, do tell us more about this K-9 of your partner's," Susan said from up front.

Her head shot up, tone normal as if nothing was wrong. "Oh, his name's Buddy, but we mostly just call him Pizza Dog. He's my partner's partner at the precinct."

" _Well it certainly isn't my fault that we're stuck on this week-long road trip_!" Hunter hissed back at her.

"Why in the world do you call him Pizza Dog, Bobbi?" her father asked.

"When he was in training we were circling him around a car, you know, for a drug bust, and he gave the signal that there were drugs in it, but when we opened it up to search it he jumped inside and stole a piece of pizza from the box in the front seat—there were no drugs after all," Bobbi told them. She glanced at Hunter furiously, speaking out of the corner of her mouth. " _Are you trying to say that because they're my parents it was me, and not you, that said 'Oh no, they already bought tickets, we have to go, Bob'_?" she hissed.

"That's a very cute story," her mother smiled.

"Although I hope the dog was better trained after that, if you're putting your life on the line with him," Joe added.

"Of course, Dad," Bobbi rolled her eyes.

" _You know what I think?_ " Hunter said in a lull in the general conversation, his voice hard but quiet and his lips barely moving. " _I think you mentioned to your parents that we were arguing_ — _and obviously you told them it was my fault, as usual_ — _and now we're stuck here. With them in this little tin can with only one bed!_ "

" _Oh you've slept on worse, don't give me that shit,_ " she snarled back. " _And the fact that you even think I would discuss our issues with my parents without consulting you is...is…_ " Unable to come up with an appropriate adjective, she simply shot him a dirty look to get her point across.

"This is the same partner of yours that we met at the wedding, right?" Susan asked. "Tall, brown hair, kind of cute?"

"Kind of cute, yeah," Bobbi said savagely. Hunter kicked her in the shins. "Also unbearably full of sarcasm. But he has my back, so…"

"Good, I liked him," her mother smiled. "Clint, wasn't it?"

"Yeah." She glared daggers at her husband as Susan's eyes returned to the road. " _Don't. Kick. Me."_

"So, Hunter, tell us about your work," Joe said.

"Oh, it's fine," Hunter replied. "Same old, same old, really."

"Good, good…"

" _I don't know what you're discussing with anyone, Bob! Those times you meet up with May and Hill for drinks_ — _who knows what you're telling them there. And Clint_ — _what do you two talk about while you're on all your covert missions together? Something's got to fill the time, why not talk about how Hunter's driving you crazy at home? Or are you kissing him too, so there's no time to talk?_ "

Her eyes flashed in his direction. " _Really, Hunter? Accusing me of cheating on you while we're in a car with my parents? Well let me get one thing straight for you: I have never kissed Clint or anything remotely like that while we've been dating, or engaged, or married. Got it?_ " she snapped, uttering the last few words about louder than she'd meant to.

"What did you say, dear?" Susan asked.

"Nothing," Bobbi covered quickly. "Just adjusting my seatbelt." Her mother nodded and kept driving.

Hunter pulled out his phone. "Excuse me for a minute, I have to check in with work," he said. Bobbi wondered if anyone else had heard the distinct ice in his voice.

Her phone pinged. "Might be Clint," she said, taking it out. For a moment she was surprised she got signal, but, well, S.H.I.E.L.D. got signal _everywhere_.

It was a text from Hunter. _More efficient than whispering our argument._

She typed back _. I'm all for ending it._

_Good. I can finally tell my mum things are looking up then. After all, Bob, it isn't every day I get a concession from the Mockingbird._

_Excuse me?_ She hit send before the wave of anger fully hit her, fueling her fingers for another few furious lines. _For one, I did not concede, you asshole. I thought MAYBE this trip would be more bearable if we weren't at each other's throats the whole timeline, but it's obvious to me now that you're too immature for such an adult solution to the problem._ Send. _And YOU TELL YOUR MUM ABOUT US?_

"Everything okay?" Bobbi's dad asked, looking back at the pair of them.

"Yep, fine," she assured him without looking up.

"Perfect," Hunter agreed, his fingers flying over the phone keyboard at the same time. The next text came through in less than a second.

_Well who else am I supposed to talk to, love, since I can't to you?_

_I can't believe you, Hunter. This is PRIVATE. What exactly did you tell her?_

"Is that Clint you're texting?" Susan asked, looking at her through the rear view mirror. "Tell him I say hi."

"Okay, Mom."

_Everything. Because unlike you, I don't keep secrets all the time, from everyone. And especially not from the people I love._ He typed his last word with much force that she could hear the _clack_ of his fingernail against glass.

"You know, you could just have that conversation aloud," her mom said with another glance in the rear view mirror. Bobbi and Hunter's heads shot upwards, both giving very un-spylike deer-in-the-headlights looks. "What, is there something your parents can't hear?" she chided Bobbi.

"No, of course not," she replied quickly. "But we aren't texting each other—like you said before, Clint. Uh, he says hi back."

"We're not stupid you know," Joe said, eyes twinkling at her.

"You're not sending _dirty_ texts to each other, now are you?" Susan demanded suddenly. "Because you know we have a rule about kissing in the back of the car, Bobbi…"

"Mom!"

"A very strict rule," her father added. "What was his name? Mark? Matt?"

"Milo, and if you recall correctly, I still got a 5 on that AP test!" she answered heatedly, through clenched teeth.

"Yes, we're sure it was all the 'studying' you did with Milo, dear," Susan replied, taking one hand off the wheel to make air-quotes with it.

"Who's Milo?" Hunter demanded.

"No one, Hunter, just a guy," Bobbi said quickly.

"A guy who you made out with," Susan pointed out.

"In the back of our van."

"And we caught you," Susan finished, both of their wide grins oblivious to the dangerous territory they'd just walked into. They didn't know about Hunter's, ah, _jealousy issues_.

Somewhat founded jealously issues given recent revelations perhaps, Bobbi reflected, but still.

"I was in high school, Lance," she persuaded. "It was a long time ago. I didn't even _date_ in high school. I was more of a...a bookworm. Math and science, those were what I spent most of my energies on. Okay?" The look she gave him clearly said to drop it.

"So, are there any other old boyfriends coming out of the woodwork that I should know about?" Hunter asked loudly. This time it was Bobbi who kicked him before putting on a placid smile for her parents, who appeared more than happy to begin detailing every aspect of Bobbi's previous love life.

Listening to them with just one ear, she made plans to slip away at the next rest stop and hitchhike her way back to California.

* * *

She yanked her arm away from him, pulling her sleeve back down over the bruises patchworked over her skin. "So that's it, huh? You can't handle that I have to work, that I have a job?"

"What I can't handle is spending days not knowing if you're dead or alive!" There was silence then, the deep kind that grabbed ahold of her and refused to let go. Her breath caught in her chest and the full force of his words, perhaps the truest he'd ever said to her, slammed into her like a truck. She would rather be in Mongolia again, Iran, Budapest, anywhere but here, facing his words and the awful truth. And therein, she thought bitterly, lay the problem.

"Just listen to me, Bob," he said when she didn't—couldn't—respond. "Hear me out. I love you. I told you that in Paris, I told you that on the day I married you, and I'm saying it to you now. I'm not the kind of bloke who asks you constantly where you were on a mission, or if you kissed or seduced anyone. I know that's part of your job, and it's important. But when I have to hear from Mack just how bad you were injured last time and why, that's... That hurts, Bob."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just extended the mission a few days so that some of my bruises could heal before I saw you again. I didn't want to worry you."

"I'm your husband! Worrying comes with the territory!" he exclaimed. "You can keep your mission secrets, your S.H.I.E.L.D. secrets, your past relationship secrets, but you cannot—keep—what—happened—to—you—a—secret! Do you understand what that's like? It's like being told that you don't trust me enough to take care of you!"

"You _can't_ , Hunter! And maybe it's time for you to face that fact and get over it, because you can't protect me on my S.H.I.E.L.D. missions. You can't tag along, you can't know anything, you can't be involved."

"Why not? Can't you vouch for me? I know for a fact that S.H.I.E.L.D. partners up with _other_ agencies," Hunter snapped back. "So what is the real reason you don't want me knowing _anything_ about your work life? Did you want to keep your personal and work life separate? Maybe, I can understand that as a reasonable request… I won't take it personally that you don't trust me in that aspect, think I'll probably just blab it to anybody when I'm drunk or something. I'm just a drunk, temporary, right?"

She stared at him for a second, anger at his accusation filling her and replacing the softer emotions she'd been feeling a moment before. "For one, you don't work for an agency we contract with—you don't work for an agency at all anymore. Second...what the _hell_ , Hunter?"

"Just tell me what intel you need? I'll give it to you," Hunter said, "seeing as you think I'm exactly like my dad, seeing as you think I'm a _drunk_ , untrustworthy, unreliable…"

"I NEVER CALLED YOU UNTRUSTWORTHY!" Bobbi shouted explosively, taking forceful step forward. She stabbed a finger in his chest. "I _never_ said that, Hunter. You want to join S.H.I.E.L.D. so that you can know what I'm doing? Go ahead. All you have to do is apply, and I'm sure they'll take you on. But you won't, and that's your own business. Don't you dare try to blame me for that. _I_ never took that option away from you."

"That would take me years! And even then, I know your clearance level is probably through the roof; you'll just find another way to keep your injuries from me," Hunter responded. "And I know why, because you're too proud, stubborn and independent. You don't accept help from anybody or show anybody weakness—including your own damn husband."

"It keeps me alive, so I can come home to my _own damn husband_ ," Bobbi growled.

Hunter took in a tight breath. "Fine, but remember, there _is_ a difference between being alive and living."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

Hunter took a few moments before he replied. "It means that if you keep everybody at a distance and never let anybody truly in...you'll miss out." He looked at her sadly for a second before walking away.

She waited until he was gone, then sank down on the bed and began pulling off the jacket that had been covering up the bruising that had started this whole mess. "This _is_ in," she said aloud. "And if it's not enough for you, I don't know what we're going to do, Lance."


	24. Operation C.H.O.I.C.E.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Screeching Halt Part VI

"Hunter, where are my staves?" Bobbi called, searching by the door as her husband changed quickly in the bedroom.

"I don't know; where did you leave them?" Hunter called back.

"By the door, like always," Bobbi said, holding back with a frustrated sigh. "Do you really think I'd be asking what you did with them if they were where they were supposed to be?"

"I didn't touch your staves," Hunter called, a huff following his reply. "You probably just misplaced them."

"Well then maybe you can come out here and look, because I am not the one who misplaces things in this house!" She checked her phone. "Clint's on his second where-the-hell-are-you text; I don't have a lot of time!"

Hunter sauntered out. "Can't you just use another weapon?" he questioned. "And it's only been two texts—you have, what, four more before you get in any serious trouble? A few more minutes won't kill him."

"That would be unprofessional, Hunter. Clint has his bow. I have my staves. Now, help me look!"

Hunter groaned as he rolled his eyes and started looking. Next thing she knew two long objects were flying at her from where he had evidently discovered them behind the couch. "Next time why don't you use your eyes? Took me all of three seconds to find them."

"Yeah, 'cause you left them there!" Bobbi spat. Her phone made a sound and she looked at it. "Great, mission's been scrapped. It was a tight window; we should have been at the base and debriefed an hour ago."

Hunter laughed. "Firstly, I didn't touch your stupid staves, and secondly, at least you don't have to rush anymore. Although, I am curious how a _super-skilled_ agent such as yourself couldn't even find her own weapon. Remind me to never trust my life in your hands."

"Oh, how sensitive, Hunter," Bobbi scoffed. "You don't even care that some village in Nigeria just got gunned down and all their buildings burned. Typical. If it's S.H.I.E.L.D., you don't give a damn."

"No, I don't give a damn because I never know what the hell you do! You should have been going to Nigeria to save the village or England to gun down the queen! I never know, so how the hell do you expect me to have sympathy for it?!" Hunter practically yelled in defense.

"Gun down the queen? What the hell do you think of us, Hunter? That we just waltz around the world killing people when we feel like it? Oh, wait, no—that's what you do!"

"Yeah, you know _exactly_ what I do, because I actually communicate! And if you don't like my job, you know where the bloody door is!" Hunter spat. "We both know that you probably kill more people than I do, so don't make me seem like the bad guy, Bob. We both know you're a more ruthless killer than I could ever be."

"Excuse me?" Bobbi demanded. "You don't see me running off to light a candle after every mission. What I do is sanctioned. It's for the greater good. And yeah, I kill—I follow orders. Can you say the same? Or is money the puppetmaster pulling your strings?"

"Yes, you kill because somebody told you to! And because it is 'sanctioned' that means that you have the right to not feel guilty? To show no remorse?" Hunter exploded. "I research pretty much every single person I take out beforehand, I would _never_ just take somebody out on an order, because I have morals—unlike you. I bet if they told you to kill me, for whatever reason they made up, you'd do it without a second thought." His voice was low and bitter.

"I know exactly who they all are," Bobbi growled. "S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't keep secrets from me, just the likes of _you_. People who can't be trusted."

"Can't be trusted," Hunter scoffed as he shook his head. "Tell me—why can't I be trusted?" He glared at her, a clear challenge in his brown eyes. They stared at each other for a few moments before he broke off, laughing humorlessly when she refused—failed—to answer him. When he began speaking again, his voice was devoid of all emotion. "You are the one who cannot be trusted. I know you've lied to me, even when it wasn't necessary. Sometimes I wonder if I can trust anything comes out of your mouth."

"Well, if you can't trust me so much—there's the door, too," Bobbo told him flatly.

"I wouldn't dare walk out on you; you'd probably hunt me down and compare me to my father and then shoot me in the back!" Hunter retorted instantly, grabbing something off the floor and throwing it over to the couch with force.

"I can do that first one from right here," Bobbi told him. "Let's see...suspicious, untrustworthy, verbally abusive, borderline alcoholic...any of this sounding familiar?"

"You're talking a bunch of shit right now, Morse! That's what you do, make up lies and torture people! And do you want to know why I drink so much—it's because I'm married to _you!_ You could force anybody into committing suicide just to get away from you!"

"Oh, so now it's suicide? Well, why don't you take a look at how it is being married to you? It's like sitting in an interrogation room all the time—one upkept by an irresponsible slob who can't leave well enough alone!"

"That is rich coming from you! Miss I-need-to-know-everything, you don't give a rat's arse about anything or anyone unless you know every single detail about their lives," Hunter growled. "You need to be reminded I'm not one of your targets; I'm supposed to be your _husband_!" \

"Emphasis on _supposed to be_. Husbands are supposed to support their wives, not accuse them of being cold-blooded murderers."

Hunter scoffed. "Maybe I'd be a better husband if you acted like a wife! I swear, all you do is complain about everything I do and dictate what we do and when—and even then I get shouted at for making you late!"

"Uh, you did. Or did it mean so little to you?"

"I did? I made you late? If I remember correctly, you initiated what happened in the bedroom which caused you to not be ready in time—or did I misread the signs? Usually when somebody pins you to the bed and starts kissing you—" Hunter fired off.

"That's not the point."

"No, the point is that because of what _you_ initiated, _you_ didn't answer your text straight away, which caused _you_ to run late—and then, because your staves were a different place, you decided that it was all my fault."

"So what you're saying is that I can't be married to you and be part of S.H.I.E.L.D. too? You want me to choose? Because I'll choose," she threatened.

Hunter stepped forward, coming dangerously close to her. "Choose," he challenged. "Finally say what we both know—choose." His eyes bore into hers. "Choose."

Her damn phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket after giving Hunter a furious glance, answering it with a vengeance. "Morse."

"Fury wants to talk."

"Clint," Bobbi greeted him. "What about? This isn't really—"

She was distracted by Hunter pulling a face, throwing one hand up into the air. "I meant choose between me and S.H.I.E.L.D., but if you want to add the archer into the mix—it's always the more the merrier with you!" Hunter said loudly.

"Shut UP, Hunter!" Bobbi shouted.

"You were talking to _me_ first—or is this you choosing?" Hunter questioned, shaking his head in mock-disappointment. He sighed and strode away from her, back into their bedroom, where he had been before the argument.

"...Everything okay?" Clint asked in her ear. Bobbi glared at Hunter's retreating form.

"Like I was saying, not a good time," Bobbi spat. "If Fury wants to talk to me, he can do it over the phone. I am _not_ flying to D.C. right now."

"Maybe it's better if you hear this from me," Clint said uncertainly. "Or maybe just—"

"Spit it out, Barton. I have a husband to kill as soon as we finish this conversation."

"You're being reassigned," Clint told her in a steady voice. "I'm taking on Romanoff as a partner. She needs someone experienced who's been with S.H.I.E.L.D. a long time to show her the ropes, teach her protocol." Bobbi was silent. "I'm the only guy for the job."

The fight was draining out of her quickly. "Fine. Understood."

"It's okay if you're mad; you can tell me," Clint told her. "I probably deserve it, springing this on you out of the blue like this. It wasn't very partner-like of me." Bobbi's jaw clenched as she cast her eyes up toward the ceiling. She pulled the phone away from her ear and hung up on him. With a sharp intake of breath, she pushed it back into her pocket but when the phone got caught on the hem she hurled it across the room, hearing the satisfying sound of it shattering against the wall. She ran a hand through her hair frustratedly, dangerously close to breaking down.

Then she pulled herself together, steeling herself and marching towards the bedroom. The door slammed open and Hunter pushed past her without a glance, a duffel bag over one shoulder. He disappeared into the garage and Bobbi could only watch as his car peeled out of the driveway, shooting off down the road.

The house was silent.

Bobbi sank down onto the sofa to cry.


End file.
